


Mirrors of Hope and Despair

by TheWritingSquid



Series: Rebirth [6]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dadgil, Gen, I need a Nero & Nero relationship tag too, Into the Spardaverse, Rated Teen for Nero's Dirty Mouth as Usual, Rebirth Meets a Doomed World AU, Spardaverse, Spardaverse Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Dante and Vergil are going through their usual sparring routines when a rift through the world appears, and a teenage Nero comes flying through. Not only is he much younger than he should, he's also convinced they're Mundus's generals and intends to see them dead.A Spardaverse Week fic where the DMC crew fromRebirthmeet a young Nero from a world ravaged by Mundus.
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: Rebirth [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629973
Comments: 166
Kudos: 455





	1. A First Clash

**Author's Note:**

> You don't strictly need to have read Rebirth to read this one. Some spoilers will be heavily implied, but not I worded my way around the worst of it so it'd stay safe. If you're not a Rebirth reader, go in viewing Dante, Vergil, and Nero as post-DMC5-but-we-solved-our-relationships-issues and you'll be fine. Rebirth readers -- all the bits that explain where everyone is 2 years later are canon :3

Nothing relaxed Dante like the sweet melody of the Yamato against his Devil Sword, blades clanking and sliding and sparking in harmony as he and his brother fought to get a hit in. In the three years since Vergil's return to the human world, they had lost count of who led their endless competition--or he had, anyway. Vergil probably kept track in his silly planner or something. Didn’t matter much to Dante either way. He was one point ahead, no matter what the stats said. 

All in all, the months had slipped by in a mostly peaceful succession of demon hunting jobs, visits from and to Fortuna, sparring sessions with his bro, and the ever-escalating prank war. It was only a matter of time before Vergil got him back for calling cryptid hunters to his flat--and what he’d do in retaliation, Dante could only imagine (and dream about, because damn, Vergil was increasingly funny and elaborate with these). 

By comparison, sparring had become almost boring. They’d fought so often, it’d become a well known dance by now, and despite their earlier agreement of no powers, Dante decided to spice things up. He reached for his devil trigger, letting the Yamato scratch him as his scales hardened and his healing accelerated, moving in with sudden speed and strength. Vergil’s eyes widened and he scoffed, his sneer a clear indication he thought Dante was cheating as he responded in kind, snapping into his simpler demon form with ease and shutting down Dante’s strike with a quick warp. Their fight intensified instantly, forcing Dante’s mind to focus on the task at hand instead of drifting to their pranks. 

Dante got so into the groove he didn’t feel the shift in the air around him, or the rising wave of power behind. Didn’t hear the soft hiss of an opening either, no more than he spotted the way a pale light danced through his feet. No, he only figured out some weird bullshit was happening when Vergil let him land an easy hit and didn’t even scowl for it, or raise the Yamato to leap back into the fight. Nope. He just stared over his shoulder, so Dante figured he should, too.

A single line of iridescent white had torn through the air and peeled off its surrounding in a manner all too reminiscent of Vergil’s crosshair portals. 

“What’s the lightshow--”

A young man came flying at him, bent in half from a powerful blow, and the surprise stole Dante’s quip. He skidded left while Vergil dodged right, and the newcomer slammed on the ground a few feet away. He tucked himself into a ball on impact, rolling until his feet were under him and springing right back up, sword at the ready.

Dante sucked in air as he recognized Nero and mentally catalogued everything that screamed _not Nero_ all at once. Kid looked a decade younger than he should and had none of the eyebags of fatherhood, but he did have an extra scar running along his cheek and a thinness to him Dante didn’t remember. A long scarf partly hid his scowl and fell upon his shoulders, covering the golden design of--what the fuck? What was he doing in Sparda Cult Knight outfit? Sure, he’d torn off the sleeves and dirtied the white, but why was he even wearing that?

As if all that wasn’t weird enough, the sword he brandished was the Yamato, its blade shining the same iridescent white as the portal for a brief instant. Dante checked his bro--nope, Vergil definitely still had his own Yamato too.

Nero stared between the two of them, confusion morphing into anger, and the Yamato vanished from his hands--and hey, that was totally Dante’s trick with the Devil Sword, unfair!--as he reached for Red Queen.

"Both of you at once?" he asked, and that was Nero’s angry voice all right. “Don’t think I can’t take you, demons.”

Well. If the kid wanted a challenge… Dante grinned and spun the Devil Sword, sliding into ready position. Shit was weird, but he wouldn’t say no to a fight. "If you say so."

Vergil did not seem in agreement. He returned the Yamato to its arm-sheathe (not that he couldn’t draw it out in the blink of an eye anyway), his tail flickering, and tilted his head to the side. “Nero?”

Flames burst around Red Queen in reaction and Nero’s two bright wings flared to life behind him. He rushed forward with a vehement “Keep my name out of your mouth!”

Vergil scowled as he parried, any hurt buried under the usual cold mask. Nero had gone all in, one furious strike after another, all of the kid’s brutal strength wedged behind the attacks. His dad could barely keep up, but hey, Nero had said he wanted both, no? Dante stretched his shoulders and joined the battle, setting aside all the questions dancing in his mind.

It seemed a bit unfair, for the two of them to keep their devil trigger while Nero stayed all human, but hey, that was _his_ decision. Dante weaved into the dance of parries and attacks, spinning and whooping, the quiet joy of battle seeping in his bones. All the weirdness kinda chipped at it fast, though. Nero not only looked different, he fought different. For all the power behind the blows, the kid was more careful about them, placing them with the intent of someone who actually paid attention in training and routines. Made him predictable, if ya asked Dante, but he was all good with slicing through the obvious opening to get his first point.

A blue shield shimmered to life, catching the Devil Sword Dante in a shower of sparks. Dante’s eyes widened--the kid summoned shields now?--then a burning pain ripped through his side and he staggered back a step. Fuck. he’d totally gotten distracted!

“All right, score,” he muttered, and it earned him a scowl.

“Ya think this is a game?”

Well, wasn’t it? Dante smirked at Nero even as a thread of discomfort slid down his spine. Nero growled at him and threw Red Queen up. His demon powers surged as it spun midair, his whole skin crackling with an angry blue energy as the red wine ridges of his demon form appeared on his chest and shoulders. But even that was different: the angles were sharper, and the red plates in the middle twisted over the core to leave a shining hole in the form of the Order of the Sword's symbol. What the fuck was going on with Nero? The spunky kid on Fortuna would've gagged at having that as part of his demon form!

Fortunately for Dante's poor brain, Nero gave him no time to think about it. He caught Red Queen with a demon arm, holding it in a single big shimmering hand while he drew the Yamato with his human one. With a cry of rage, Nero leaped back into battle.

Kid had always been the brutal and impulsive kind, especially when he got heated before battle, but now he'd turned downright feral. He added dark blue swords to Red Queen and the Yamato, sometimes swinging them with his two blades, sometimes sending them flying the way Vergil would. He was a whirling blur, fast and unpredictable enough to keep both he and Vergil on their toes and score small hits on them. He snarled when Vergil’s Yamato slid through his side, opening a wound that healed immediately, and slammed two fists in his father’s chest, sending him flying back. 

And suddenly all of his focus turned to Dante, and boy but this kid had grown powerful! Dante’s devil speed barely kept him a step ahead, each parried strike echoed down his arms, and he struggled to edge his way back to having the upper hand. After a dozen minor cuts and the in-extremis escape of warping his way out of a deep stab, Vergil finally joined the fray once more. Dante landed next to him with a tense grin.

“Ya know, I’m starting to think your kid’s really tryin’ to kill me!”

“It would not be undeserved.” 

Vergil’s retort lacked the smugness Dante had come to expect from that sentiment. And dang, that meant his brother was taking the threat seriously too. Something whack was going on--as usual, really--but there was no way in hell Dante was just gonna go for the kill on this Nero. No need to ask Vergil if he would.

“So what’s your idea?”

Vergil always had one, right? Sure, most of them had sucked and involved lots of death, but Dante was drawing a blank and his bro had wisened up a lot. 

"Tire him out, I suppose."

"Really?" They'd sparred for weeks in the underworld without getting the least bit tired! Why did Vergil think Nero would tire any faster?

Dante didn't get a chance to tell his twin his plan sucked--Nero rushed them, blazing Red Queen and Yamato coming down in a sweeping arc as he spun midair, his twirl a diagonal version of one of Dante's favourite tricks with King C. The blades hammered against the Devil Sword and Dante dug his heels under the force of the blows. He could feel himself sink into the ground, dirt raising behind his boots--then Nero changed his angle, and Red Queen slid along the Devil Sword and caught in the guard with enough strength to unbalance Dante. Before he knew it, Nero had landed in front of him and the Yamato came forward in a quick and deadly stab. Time slowed around Dante, but it didn't feel like his brother's cold, steady power, nor did it freeze everything.

Just enough of a time goopball for Dante to fail his dodge and revisit the good old pleasures of a Yamato through his chest. Pain flared as the tip dug in and, man, he really thought that part of his life was over with!

Then Vergil's cold power slammed down on them, freezing time entirely. Stuck in the bubble, his demonic sense of auras his only guide, Dante struggled to understand what happened. Vergil had done this before, however, pushing against another's control over time, imposing his will. Nero fought back, and their skins crackled with blue energy as unyielding strengths clashed. Damn Dante wished he could help. Maybe he outta ask Vergil to teach him this trick, cause right now his only guide of who was winning was the excessively slow slide of the Yamato's tip in his chest.

Another centimeter in. Dante gritted his teeth. Shit hurt, in a weird ass slow, wavy, twisted way.

Blade stopped. A full second--to him anyway. Who knew how long this went on outside the bubble? Dante pushed against the timestop to step back, get his muscles moving as much as he could.

Nero's scream of rage flowed through the timespace and the bubble shattered under the wave of his raw, undiluted power. The Yamato slid the rest of the way in, sending a brutal wave of pain through Dante. He stumbled back, more from the sheer intensity of Nero’s strength than the stab itself. Kid glared at him as he twisted the blade in.

“Just… die already.”

Dante smirked and brought a hand over his heart. “That hurts, kid.”

“Dante…” 

The warbly pain in Vergil’s voice sent a lance of worry through Dante’s chest. His gaze snapped in his twin’s direction and he found him a few feet above ground, half his body still shifted in devil trigger, a thick tree branch impaled through his shoulder all the way to the trunk. Dante could only imagine Nero forcefully slamming him all the way through and he cringed as his mind pictured every side branch snapping. Blood clung to Vergil’s hair and clothes, but apart from a burned slash near his midriff, Vergil seemed to have healed most other wounds.

“Should be… pretty exhausted... now.”

Nero didn’t _feel_ like it, but if he’d busted Vergil like that, he’d have had to work hard on it. Damn, had they done all that while he chilled in the time bubble? Had _that_ been Vergil’s plan--leave Dante suspended so he’d keep his full strength for later? That was fucking crafty, especially for him. Dante returned his attention to Nero.

“Up for round two?”

He leaned forward and wrapped his hand over the Yamato’s grip and Nero’s own, demon power coursing through him. Skin sizzled as fingers turned to claws, muscles bulging with the influx of energy. He held Nero’s gaze as his body changed, hard ridges and scales forming over a demon’s core, pure undiluted strength coursing through him. Dante pulled the Yamato out inch by inch, never flinching, and no amount of pushing from Nero could stop him, despite his much better leverage. Dante snapped his wings out as the Yamato came free, then crunched down on Nero’s grip, tore the sword from him, and flung it away.

Fear flicked through Nero’s expression for a brief moment, then the kid pounced on him with a primal cry of rage. Bright arms punched at him while Red Queen burned strong, but Dante blocked the hits with surprising ease, catching Nero’s fists in his palms and flicking him backward. Blue motes escaped from the kid’s devil form, sliver of powers slipping out. He _was_ weaker than earlier. No less aggressive, though--he landed in a slide and sprinted right back into the fray. 

Dante’s fingers itched for Ivory and Ebony to slow his approach, so he greeted Nero with spinning swords of flame, forcing him to twist sideways to dodge, then leaped forward and met him halfway with the Devil Sword. They entered another deadly dance, slash-parry-dodge, wings snapping out to power their leaps and lunges as they fought to get past the other’s defenses. Nero’s attacks grew more powerful but wilder, uncalculated and desperate like hell antenoras rushing in after a hit. He landed two quick slices on Dante, but each time he’d left himself open wide enough to be killed. Dante cringed as he counterattacked, holding back to wound and drain Nero’s healing without risking anything more serious. The blue light shimmering across his wounds dimmed with each strike, but Nero only spat on the ground.

“Is that all you can do?”

The first reply to Nero’s taunt was Vergil’s ragged laughter from the side. Probably a vote of confidence for Dante? His twin didn’t add anything, only smirked, and that infuriated Nero even more.

“I won’t let you destroy everything!”

Blue Rose sprung out in a flash, dark blue energy swirling around it in the blink of an eye--shit this kid kept pulling off stunts with his demon power. Seriously what the fuck was even going on with him?

Then Nero pointed the gun at Vergil--Vergil who’d grown so battered he’d stayed against the tree, whose wounds hadn’t all fixed themselves, whose every breath kinda sounded like a bit of a painful struggle.

The ground cracked under Dante as he flew up, twisting midair to face the bullets as he shoved his body in between, hands outstretched to catch it. He felt Nero’s power in his palms, a swirling mass of destruction and anger concentrated on two burning points. Pain flared through Dante’s hands and wrists as he captured the energy. He gritted his teeth, impressed by the raw power Nero still managed to conjure. Had to focus. Capture, control, redirect. He’d done the first, but Blue Rose’s twin bullets refused to comply, the writhing energy slipping out of his grasp. A tiny explosion birthed between his fingers, and Dante sent it flying back out before it burst on him.

Nero hadn’t expected the retaliation. Dante’s out of control beam hit him in the chest and sent him flying back, his devil form sizzling and flickering away, leaving behind a smoking and barely conscious teen spread across the clearing’s ground. Dante wasted no time: he flew right at him, fists still burning bright with leftover energy, and--cringing every second of the move--he slammed into Nero’s chest with a punch. He _felt_ the ribs crack under and watched the shocked pain spread across Nero’s way-too-young face before his eyes rolled back.

Dante grimaced as his devil form dissipated, stretching his fingers as if he could forget the unsettling feeling. He’d fought and punched Nero plenty of times, in real battles and spars both, but this felt different. Threads of despair had clung to the kid, and even now, anguish twisted his features. Dante crouched down and brushed aside his massive bang. Maybe old age played tricks on his memory, but this kid looked even younger than when he’d first met Nero.

This was several layers of fucked up, and Dante might not know how many and what the layers even were, but he already didn’t like any of them.

“He’s not shifting…”

Vergil’s whispered comment surprised him. His brother hunched by his side, shoulder bleeding but filled with a pale blue light.

“Shift? What did ya expect, some doppelganger shit?”

“It seemed the most reasonable conclusion at the time.” 

‘At the time’ meant he no longer believed it. It hadn’t even crossed Dante’s mind. Nero was just Nero, right? Except he had to admit, this Nero didn’t act like Nero at all, relentless anger aside. Made his brain hurt. 

“And now?”

Vergil only shook his head and crouched next to Nero, worry softening his normally stiff posture. Half-gloved hands hovered above him for a moment and he sighed. “I do not know, and I fear he may be the only one who can explain.”

“Cool.” Dante wrapped his arms around Nero’s frame, his stomach clenching when he felt his thinness under the Order’s torn and battered outfit. He grinned and forced himself not to think too hard on why that might be. “We can all chat over a good meal.”

“Low-quality pizza will not make him more amenable, Dante. That only works on you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that _now_ , but just you watch!” He plopped the unconscious kid on Cavaliere and hopped on. “Pick up his swords and shit, aye? I’ll get him all comfy in demon suppressing binds so he doesn’t rip our throats up right when he comes to.”

Hard to say what earned him Vergil’s scowl: the dismissiveness at the start, ordering him around, the idea they’d be putting his son in shit Lady used to tame demons and question ‘em, or when Dante revved up Cavaliere’s motor and ditched him in the clearing without a word of warning, speeding down the path and back towards the city.


	2. Diverging Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nero wakes up tied to a chair in a messy pizza hovel, and the more he talks with the two demons holding him, the more confusing his life becomes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Cursed (very very loosely followed here XD)

_“Fuck.”_

The word slipped out of Nero’s dry lips the moment he came to, yanked out of him by the burning agony of his chest. Shit hurt like a dozen hammers had slammed into it repeatedly, each breath rekindling the flames of pain. Saviour, he’d rather be dead.

Which-- _fuck_ \--why wasn’t he?

They should have killed him. He’d thwarted them so often, stopped them from killing so many people, from stealing the Order’s holy artefacts or any other bullshit they were after. Why wasn’t he dead? Panic washed through him as he scrambled for a single non-terrifying reason they’d want him alive but his mind bounced between torture and freakish demon experiments and before he knew it, a low whine escaped him. He needed to calm down. Being alive was good. It gave him a chance to escape, to fuck these monsters over and find a way back to Credo and Lady. He could do that. He could do anything, right? The whole fucking world needed him to.

Nero risked a peek around him. He was tied into a chair in the middle of a large area. Looked half like an office, half like the hovel of some messy pizza-obsessed beast. Empty boxes piled everywhere, loose paper sheets and torn letters covered parts of every surface available, and there were quite a few magazines he’d love to look at--though not as much as the demon heads and weapons on the wall.

Jeez, fuck, this was no time to get distracted. He couldn’t see anyone, so he wriggled against his bonds then reached within for his powers. As much as he hated the rage-inducing Yamato transformation, he couldn’t waste time here. A cold numbness spread around his wrists immediately, spreading through his body. Kinda helped with the pain, actually, but no shimmering arms appeared by his shoulders, and no renewed strength coursed through him.

“Fuck,” he said again, glad Credo wasn’t anywhere around to scold him for it.

“Teenero’s awake.”

The voice came from above and behind him, and while it didn’t vibrate in that strange demonic way anymore, Nero recognized it as one of two devils he’d fought and cursed himself for being so noisy.

“Call him that again and I will rip your throat out.”

The deadly threat in the second devil’s voice was almost reassuring--it felt way less treacherous than the pleasant, mocking tone of the first one. Nero still hated it, though. When had Mundus’s generals learned to masquerade as humans? Their auras betrayed them. Even twisted and dimmed as they were now, Nero recognized them, but not everyone had that ability. And if he died here, he’d never get to warn Credo and the others… As he pondered his options and tried to turn, the conversation above continued.

“What d’ya wanna call him then? You keep sayin’ this is really Nero, and he’s a teen, so--ow!”

The flash of blue light was Nero’s only indication of what had happened, but an instant later a man--no, demon, Nero reminded himself--appeared before him, dark blue outline coalescing into the body of a someone well over his forties, his white hair swept back, and his blue eyes cold, calculating. Nero hated that they’d picked white as their hair colour. People gave him enough shit for it, and now demons went parading around with it? Fuck that shit.

“Nero,” he said and the firm love imbued into his tone made Nero’s skin crawl. “How old are you?”

“None of your fucking business!” Nero pulled at the chair, making its legs snap as a burst of laughter erupted from above. The second demon landed behind him with a thump.

“See? If he was our Nero’s age, he’d be long past caring and tell us!”

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. Nero’s stomach flipped and he reached for his angel wings, desperate to punch at the man behind him. The numbing response from the manacles at his wrists crawled all the way up to his shoulders.

“I’ll kill you.” He could snap all he wanted, the thread of fear had made it into his voice. Nero growled and fixed as deadly a glare as he could on the devil in front of him. “You can’t fool me. I know what you are.”

“And what, pray tell, are we?”

Was this fucker mocking him? “Mundus’s generals. You think I haven’t kicked your asses often enough to smell your stench from miles away?”

The devil’s mouth compressed into a thin line and he raised his gaze, no doubt consulting his partner. If these assholes had telepathy to boot… Ugh. The second demon squeezed his shoulder and strode around, each nonchalant step an insult to Nero. A loose red coat hung from his shoulder and he’d chosen white hair too. They looked kinda similar, once you paid attention--like brothers.

“Mundus is dead. We killed him.”

Nero rolled his eyes. What did they even hope to achieve with this bullshit? Mundus had been tearing the human world apart for as long as Nero remembered, and no one helped him more than these two. “Cut the crap and just… kill me or whatever already.”

The first demon crouched down to be closer to eye level with him. “Nero, we wish you no harm.”

Nero couldn’t flip him a bird, so he went for the next best thing: he spat in his face. The devil startled, horror spreading through him as he touched his face. His brother laughed and shoved a hand through the carefully-placed hair, ruffling it, and Nero kinda wanted to scream from how _human_ the whole thing was.

“Ya know, kid--”

“I’m not a kid! I’ve killed more demons--”

“Than I can count? Than me?” He laughed and stretched out. “Now don’t be silly. You were good, sure--got some nifty new tricks going with that shield, too--but no one’s slain more demons than the Legendary Demon Hunter, Dante.”

He posed, hand on his hip as he made his coat snap. Nero stared, bile roiling at the bottom of the stomach. The Order had plenty of tales of Sparda’s son and how he had sacrificed himself to stall Mundus’s return, each blatantly aggrandizing bullshit meant to fire up the troops. That’s what Lady said, anyway, when she got a few drinks in her and laughed at the idea of Dante as a proper, noble knight. Her voice always grew quiet, sadness mixing in with a thread of mockery as she spoke of crappy one-liners and towers of… of pizza boxes. Nero’s gaze flicked to the empty boxes nearby, then back to this pretender. He did have the looks of the statues. They’d put some real fucking effort in this deception.

“Dante’s dead,” he spat.

‘Dante’ pouted at him as if wounded by his words. Behind him, the second demon crossed his arms. “Let me guess: Mundus killed him.”

“Duh. Everyone knows that.”

They looked at each other again and their sigh came in perfect synchronicity.

“Right, so Teenero thinks--” A blue sword shimmered above this ‘Dante’s’ head but he jumped to the side as it plunged to the ground. “--I got killed by Mundus, and it sounds like I got Nelo’d up instead, but why the fuck is that in his head.”

“It’s not in my head!”

Nero had had enough. They were playing with him, two predators toying with his brain, fucking around before they went on with whatever shit awaited him, and he wasn’t going to take it all in strides. He tried to pull his feet under him despite the bonds tying them to the chair, setting the flat of his feet down and pushing with everything he could, powers be damned. That got the chair to lift a little--enough to tilt it and for him to fall forward. Not the brutal chair propulsion he’d had in his head.

Hands caught his shoulders before his face slammed into the ground and righted him back up, and he found himself facing the calmer of these two fucks. He’d come close enough to be spat on again, but his eyes narrowed right as the thought crossed Nero’s mind--like he could read the idea from it--and that was unsettling enough to stop Nero.

“I know better than to ask you to calm down, Nero, but please… there is something foul afoot. You tell of events we have never experienced.”

He held his gaze as his fingers undid the knots holding the katana by his side, and Nero couldn’t help suck in some air. He’d know the Yamato anywhere, except the sageo on this one was different, half-gold and half-blue, and he knew the moment the blade rested on his lap that it wasn’t _his_. Then this asshole walked away, wordlessly vanishing for a few endless seconds. When he returned, he placed a second Yamato on Nero’s lap, and Nero hated how familiar and safe it felt. He shouldn’t get attached to the devils’ tools, no matter how powerful.

“You should not have different recollections of events,” he said, “but then again, there should not be two Yamato. It is a unique blade, created by Sparda. Furthermore, Dante and I… we know Nero. He wields many of the powers you do, but he is older. Would you… want to meet him, perhaps?”

That… had to be a bluff. Or something. They thought there was another him? What, were they going to get a doppelganger demon or some bullshit in here just to convince him? “Why are you doing this? Is this, like, weirdo torture? Interrogation? I’m not--not falling for it.”

Except he was, and that scared him more than anything. He couldn’t catch a hint of deception from these two and while pieces of their auras matched Mundus’s generals, they had a different feel altogether, softer and kinder. Nero hated that his heart believed them, even if his mind relentlessly reminded him this was utterly impossible. His powers swirled under the maelstrom of emotion, manacles numbing his arms. None of it made any sense, no matter how he looked at it. One moment he’d been fighting a weird wraith with a prescient sense of things to come, and just as he’d pierced it with the Yamato… he’d wound up thrown back, out of the dark cave and into the shining clearing, facing these two.

“This-this is fucked up.”

“Sure is, kid,” the wannabe Dante said. “But that territory just comes with the name, doesn’t it? Somehow I’m sure that’s still true for you.”

“The… name?”

They couldn’t be implying what he thought they were. Sure, the Order kept telling him he was the last wielder of Sparda’s power, but the _name_ meant, like, family. And Nero only had one family: Credo and Kyrie. These two assholes were exchanging looks again, and Nero wished he could slam their heads together as retribution.

Wannabe-Dante strode away, throwing his arms up. “Stealing your phone and callin’ him.”

The second demon stayed to watch him, his glare burning harder than most demons Nero had destroyed over the years. Except it didn't feel threatening, and that fucked Nero up more than he cared to admit. They were demons. He had to remind himself of that. A pair of demons trying to trick him, and just cause this one looked like he wanted to brush his cheek and push his hair aside didn't mean shit. It just made him a better liar.

The quiet silence would kill him, so Nero huffed and stared at a severed demon head on the wall, avoiding his guardian now sitting on the nearby couch, to the side. "So the other one's Dante or whatever. Who are _you_ supposed to be?"

“I’m--Ah…”

What the fuck kind of answer was that? Nero glared at him as he leaned back and spread his hands out on his knees. “Give me a name or I’m calling you Bluefuck until this is over.”

A hint of a smile curved his lips, gone so fast Nero might have imagined it. His hand slid down to an amulet at his neck, a red gem encased in silver, and he sighed. “Vergil.”

“Ver--” Of course. Hadn’t Nero thought they looked kind of like brothers? If one pretended to be Dante, then the other would have to be his twin. All made sense, except for the part where these two had repeatedly tried to kill each other. Nero rolled his eyes. How far were they going to push this lie anyway? “What’s next? You gonna tell me you never raised a demon tower? Always played nice with the humans?”

A soft, dangerous chuckle escaped the demon--‘Vergil’, apparently--and he shook his head. “An intriguing fantasy, to be sure, but even today my care for human lives is rather… external. My son cares, so I do, to some extent.”

A true beacon of compassion, then. Nero didn’t envy this asshole’s son. Vergil either didn’t catch his scoff or purposefully ignored it, as he went on without commenting. His hands had not left the amulet yet, and he only gripped it tighter as he continued in an even voice.

“I’m afraid I have also been Mundus’s general, so in this regard at least our stories match. He… shaped me, bending me into a knight of great power and even greater obedience, a tool for his conquest.” Vergil finally dropped the amulet and turned his head towards the front door, where his brother had vanished. “I can only hope that whatever the explanation for your presence here, it will grant us an opportunity to stop this from happening to your Dante, too.”

“Just Dante.”

Why not himself, if it’d been that painful? Nero wished he could crack his skull open and see what moved inside--see through the layers of bullshit tangling with one another today.

Blue eyes met his, and although Vergil’s tone and expression hadn’t moved from their steady mask, soft pain shone through those, a window more honest than Nero cared to perceive. “Some fates, it feels, are inescapable.”

What a depressing load of bull. Nero hated when the Order prattled on about how he was destined to be the new Saviour, that his powers were proof that Sparda had chosen him, and that he’d end the threat to the world. He couldn’t remember a time when this shit hadn’t been put on his shoulders, and some days it felt like half of them had stopped there--just shoved the fate of the world in his arms and sat back while he went through hell fighting demons on their behalf. At least Credo and Lady came with him most of the time. He wished they’d been there for this one, too. Maybe he wouldn’t be tied to a chair trying to figure out what fucking reality he’d been trapped in and what was their twisted endgame with it. Nero sank deeper into his chair with a huff.

“Yeah well, I sure wish I’d escaped this one.”

A thread of guilt raced through Vergil’s expression, but before he could express it, his brother shoved the front doors open. “Yo Vergil, he won’t believe me! Thinks I’m pranking him or some shit.”

He brandished the minuscule phone in his hand, and Vergil gestured for it. Dante flicked it across the room.

“Nero?” Vergil asked over the phone, and when an angry voice retorted through the receiver, his blue gaze flicked back to Nero. “I assure you, he’s very real.”

They had to be talking about him, right? Was he talking with his own Nero? This just didn’t make sense. There… there couldn’t be two of him, could it? Nero’s heart hammered against his chest and he pressed his lips, fighting to keep everything but a scowl off his face. His gaze fell on the two Yamato on his lap, twin blades where only one should exist. He tried to convince himself it was a replica, but how did one recreate its aura almost perfectly like that?

“On speaker? Certainly.” Vergil set down the phone on his lap and hit the screen a few times. “Here you go.”

“Yo, Nero.”

The new voice from the phone sounded like every recording of himself he’d ever heard, with a hint of depth his own voice didn’t have. It had all the right intonations, too, and although there was no rational way this was possible, Nero’s heart recognized himself instantly. So he said the only thing he could think of.

“Fuck you.”

###

At the other end of the line, staring at monkeys swinging from tree branches while a two-year-old sat on his shoulders and pulled at his hair, Nero burst out laughing. Part of it was hysteria and fatigue, sure. He was supposed to be on vacation. They had travelled all the way to this fucking continent so they could enjoy one long trip as a small family with no demons and then visit Grandpa and Duncle (that had become short for grand-uncle, which Mads couldn’t say to save her life) before the two monsters in Kyrie’s belly sapped every inch of energy she had left. The rules had been clear. No calls, no texts, no asking for pictures or news--nothing until they were on their way to the city.

So of course it had taken less than three days for them to call. Nero had let the first attempt go to voicemail, but when his phone rang again… Emergencies cost human lives, he told himself, and if Vergil was the one calling…

Between Dante hijacking his brother’s phone _and_ the absolutely ridiculous tale his uncle tried to have him believe, Nero almost put an end to his vacation just to go kick his ass. Then Vergil confirmed. And then he heard himself.

_Fuck you._

Through the mind-boggling certitude that this _was_ him--that somehow the universe had shoved a second Nero on their lap--all he could think was that he’d have totally told his older self off as a teenager, especially one flanked by two half-demons he saw as enemies. And there was no way he was leaving a poor version of himself with the two dumbasses he called family, so it looked like his vacations would have to be delayed.

“You’re all lucky I’m not on the other side of your large-ass country,” he said. “Nero--don’t let these assholes give you shit. And try not to kill ‘em. It’s tempting some days, but I put a lot of effort in keeping them alive.”

He hung up before anyone could retort, slipped the phone in his pocket, and reluctantly lifted Madeleine off his shoulders. She giggled as he brought her down and he instantly wished he didn’t have to go. Instead, he swept his gaze around the zoo’s nearby paths and sought Kyrie out, wondering how exactly he was gonna explain this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's better than one Nero? Two Neros!!!


	3. Sparda's Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rebirth's Nero arrives at the Devil May Cry and gets the situation under control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's prompt is Storytelling, so let's get some universe sharing going! And more Nero & Nero goodness hehehehe.

Their Nero was _awesome_.

He strode into the shop with an air of confident defiance, dark blue coat billowing behind him and sturdy gloves covering his hands. He’d cut his hair short, too, and Nero had always thought he’d look silly like that, but no, Kyrie was right, that totally fit him! His eyes snapped to the chair and he scowled, blue wings shimmering above his shoulders as his anger rose.

“You kept him tied up? Stars, no wonder he hates your faces!”

“He tried to kill us!” Dante protested. “You know how you can get!”

Then there was a lot of swearing, and threats to kill them himself if he needed to, and before Nero understood how his counterpart had scolded these two older demons into submission, they’d released him and backed far away, each observing from a different corner of the room like chastised children. And as weird as it was to watch someone with his build and voice and powers, Nero had to admit it was also kind of hilarious to witness an older self snap fearlessly at these two until they squirmed and muttered apologies. Or Dante did. Vergil pinched his lips and looked at the ceiling like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

As he sat in the couch and rubbed his numbed wrists, Nero found himself wishing he had that kind of power. The Other Nero turned to him, and all the raw, intimidating anger that’d cowed the older demons seeped out.

“How you feelin’? Apart from weirded out to hell and back, I mean.”

Nero closed his mouth. He’d been about to answer that, and that the other Nero had known just strengthened his confused anger at all of this. “Pissed. You can’t prove you’re real.”

“Ya think?”

He leaned forward, pitching his voice into a whisper no one else in the room would hear, and described the six small moles on Kyrie’s lower back that almost looked like a butterfly. Heat climbed into Nero’s cheek. He’d only gotten to see those once, and only in the last year, on the rare occasions he stopped by Fortuna long enough to sleep over. He remembered running his finger between the small marks, marvelling at their beauty and how lucky he was to even witness it, let alone hold their owner in his arms. The other Nero laughed at his reaction.

“Don’t worry, I get it. Glad you got her, too.” He grabbed the chair Nero had been tied to all afternoon, flipped it, and sat backwards on it. “Dante filled me in on the whole ‘Mundus is alive and the twins are his generals’ bit and boy, it sounds like you got dealt a fucked up hand. I didn’t have the happiest teenage years, but that beats it by far. You even got your full devil trigger already, right?”

“Devil… trigger?”

“Blame the dumb name on Dante,” Nero said, pointing at him with his thumb over his shoulder. Dante’s mouth parted in protest, but he never got to start.

“Wh-what’s a devil trigger? I don’t have a devil anything!” He had Sparda’s power, sure enough, but that didn’t make him a devil. Sparda was different, he was their saviour. He’d relinquished what made him a devil, becoming holy, and passed his power as a blessing. The unease passing through all three demons set Nero’s teeth on edge. They were keeping something from him. “Tell me!”

Instead, the older Nero turned to Vergil. They had a whole ass conversation in silence, only for Nero to huff and return his attention to his counterpart on the couch. “What d’you call it, when your body changes and you become more powerful?”

“Sparda’s blessing.”

That wasn’t the whole truth. The Yamato could also change his body. Way more, in fact, than the angel wings he got from Sparda. But the Yamato had devil energy, and it made him lose control. It wasn’t the same.

“Riight.” This Nero’s gaze went to the symbol of the Order, emblazoned on Nero’s shoulders. “Makes sense, I guess. So why are you the only one blessed?”

“Why d’you think I’m the only one?” He wasn’t. Credo had his own blessed form, too. He said there were a few other members of the Order with one, too, but they had to limit who could receive the blessing. Nero had never been picked, though, not by them. Sparda had chosen him directly, or so they said. This other Nero seemed to know that somehow.

“Aren’t you? I bet you’re different.”

Nero ground his teeth and kept silent. They’d tell him wherever this was going and he would hate it, but he didn’t have to believe them. J-just because this Nero knew things about Kyrie no enemy would didn’t mean shit, right?

“Ya hungry, kid?” Dante asked from his corner.

“Pizza won’t spare us this conversation, Dante,” his brother scolded.

“Might make it easier, though. Help things go down and everything. And I’m hungry!”

“I’m not hungry, I want to know,” Nero snapped.

They all fell silent again, and his blood boiled in his veins at it. Familiar anger swirled within, simmering below his skin, ready to be unleashed. What were they hiding? Why didn’t they just tell him? Then this idiot--this red-coated wannabe Dante with the easy smirks and nonchalance of the worst kind--laughed and muttered “only hungry for knowledge, huh?” and that was _too_ much. Nero was done with them and their mockery and secrets, done with all this bullshit masquerade and uncanny valley world, done with _all of this._ Fury hardened his skin and two bright arms snapped behind him--Sparda’s _blessing_. He sent one flying after Dante as he got one foot under him to leap forward, fully intent to follow up with a solid punch.

A large blue palm caught his fist, then the other Nero’s second hand wrapped around his chest, large claws tightening over his ribs. Momentum carried him forward despite the attempt to stop him, and Nero smashed into his counterpart, sending them both to the ground.

“Woah, hey--”

Nero shoved his hands in the other’s face, cutting his older self off before he scrambled back up, already dashing for Dante. The fingers around his chest tightened, holding him back, and the older Nero’s second hand joined them. He burst out laughing as he held him still.

That, more than the physical restraints, slowed Nero down. People mocked him every day, but this other Nero, he laughed with genuine mirth and a thread of incredulous joy--something almost like pride. Nero spun around to glare at him. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry, I’m…” He allowed his arms to disappear and pushed himself on his knees. “You’re just _so me_ , but I guess that makes sense? Anyway. S’not worth it to get angry over Dante’s dumb jokes. You’d never breathe.”

Nero huffed and snapped his wings behind him. “J-just stop treating me like a child! I want answers.”

“Ya won’t like ‘em, kid,” Dante said.

No fucking shit. He didn’t like any of this, anyway, so what was one more drop in an ocean of bullshit? He crossed his arms, the ridges alongside his forearm digging into his skin as he focused on Nero again. The bright blue wings that’d stopped him were a tad paller than his, their curves smoother, but damn they looked similar anyway. Nero let them vanish.

“Sparda didn’t choose you. I’m afraid it’s more mundane than this.” Nero stood up and edged closer. He let his hand hover above the blue core shining in Nero’s empowered form and smiled. “This power… Here’s how it goes in this world. Sparda had children--twins. They look human, but if you pay attention, they don’t have much more brain than your average demon, or they don’t know how to use it. Anyway, one of them had his own kid. And so far everyone in this demon family has had white hair and blue eyes, except for my girl, who has her mom’s brown eyes.”

“That’s--” Nero stopped. That was bullshit. It had to be. His foot slid backward of its own volition, fear and denial gripping his stomach as the words sank in. He needed this to be a lie, to not be true. He wasn’t a demon! He’d spent his whole life fighting them, saving human lives, preserving the world against Mundus. J-just like Sparda. “I’m not…”

Nero set a hand on his shoulder, firm but not overwhelming. Grounding. “Listen. All that matters is what you do with these powers.”

“You don’t understand!” It wasn’t the same back in his world. The twins were evil, generals contributing to the destruction of the world, two nemesis he’d fought over and over. Claws dug into his palms as he bunched his hands into fists. “I’ve spent my entire life trying to kill them--and now you tell me they’re the only family I got? What am I supposed to do with that?”

“That’s up to you, but right now, I think Dante had the right idea.” Dante’s face lit up at that, and even without turning back, Nero rolled his eyes and went on. “Sit with us, eat some grub, let it sink in. I understand better than you think, ya know? First time I saw Dante, I rammed his own sword through his chest. And Vergil, well…” He trailed off, glancing back at the more stoic demon. “We got off to an even rockier start. This family’s never fucking easy.”

That was one way to put it. Nero stared hard at this older version of him, so calm despite it all. Was he supposed to get used to this sort of stuff? He didn’t want to accept that was just how it is--that he was doomed to fight and kill his own family. What else, though? He’d faced Mundus’s twin generals often enough to know they wouldn’t chill and lay down their arms just because he told them he was their kid. Or one them’s kid. Which, fuck. Nero turned to the two older demons, his gaze flicking between the two of them.

One of these assholes had left him behind, back in his world.

“Which one?” he demanded, but he already knew.

Only one of them had stared at him with barely disguised tenderness. Only one had hesitated when asked who he was supposed to be, or spoken of caring about humans on behalf of his son. He glared at Vergil, who closed his eyes and nodded in confirmation.

“Fuck.”

Though really, did he want loudmouth pizza-beast as a father, either? Fuck no. He’d had two bad options. How often had he dreamed of finding his parents and asking them why they’d left, and now he had his chance? Except this Vergil wasn’t the same, was he? If all this held water, then his father still served Mundus and no sitting down and eating pizza would change that.

_He… shaped me, bending me into a knight of great power and even greater obedience, a tool for his conquest._

That’s what he’d said, and it didn’t sound willing. Maybe… maybe his wasn’t, either. Maybe there’d be a way.

Nero’s heart tightened at the idea, and he scratched his nose. It sounded so impossible. Nero’s shoulders slumped and he plopped on the ground, fighting against the wave of despair. Credo always encouraged him not to lose hope--steady hearts make steady hands, or some other similar shit. He always had these little sayings that didn’t mean much but made Nero feel better.

“I rammed you through a tree branch,” Nero muttered.

Dante’s sudden laugh only brought a deeper flush to his cheeks. This was so fucked up. But Vergil only shrugged. “You should be proud of your strength, Nero. It took everything I had to tire you for Dante, and few can approach our level of power.”

“It’s not enough.” Ripples of power flowed out of him and he slapped his palm on the floor. "People die every day because I'm too weak to protect them. They don't have anyone else but us--and now I'm gone, too. Stuck _here_ , wherever the fuck this is."

He wasn't sure when he had accepted this place and these alternate-reality demons were real and not a trick of his mind, but by now it almost seemed the simpler explanation. While it meant no risk of immediate death or torture, it still left him stranded. Nero spent half his life on the move, running from missions to emergency, only ever stopping in Fortuna for too-brief days of respite with Kyrie. This wasn't the same. He had no easy way home, didn't even know if that existed.

"I may have hypotheses concerning your arrival," Vergil said. "Would you allow me to borrow your Yamato? I may not be as attuned to it as I am to mine, but even from my brief handling of it, I could tell it was different."

"Ya think the Yamato did that? Shoved me here?" He twisted his whole body around to scowl at it. "Of course that cursed blade would do this to me."

"Cursed?" A dangerous edge slipped into Vergil's voice as he repeated the word, the first time he sounded genuinely angry. “I understand youth can make one’s mouth run, but you should reconsider the way you speak of the Yamato. It is an artifact of great power and, more importantly, great personal significance.”

“To _you_ , maybe.”

Vergil bristled. Actually motherfucking bristled, straightening up and puffing his chest. “Yes, to me. It is no wonder it won’t talk to you, if this is all the respect you afford it. At least my Nero had the sense to--”

“Cut it off, Dad.” ‘His’ Nero, as Vergil had called him, stepped in between them, and for a brief instant one could catch the outline of blue wings. “We don’t know how he got the Yamato or what he’s been through. Dante sure wasn’t there to entrust it to him, was he?” He turned around and offered Nero a hand to get up. “We’ll get you home, Nero. But since there isn’t a way right now… anything ya wanna do? While you’re here.”

Accepting the helping hand felt like putting his entire arm in a trap, but Nero didn’t know what else to do. He let his older counterpart heave him up, angry pout firmly set on his face. Questions and frustrations bounced around his head, but he shoved them all back deep down, intent on saving face. Then his stomach grumbled a loud answer on his behalf, and as all eyes turned to it, Dante grinned.

“Pizza party it is!”

###

Vergil knew he should leave the room with the two Yamatos and try to puzzle out the truth behind today’s ludicrous events. No one gained anything from his prolonged presence in Dante’s dirty office, least of all this young Nero. Logic dictated that he set to work immediately and help Nero return to his home. Instead, he found it extremely hard to tear his gaze from the teenager’s youthful face, let alone transport his whole body in a separate room.

He was so young. It was a redundant thought at this point, yet it would not let Vergil alone. This was what his son had looked like as a late teenager: rounder cheeks and bright eyes, jawline less defined, angry scowls defeated by the sheer youth of his features. He was beautiful and willful in familiar ways that left a profound ache in Vergil’s chest. He could have lived these years alongside him, had events been different--and it seemed, now, that somehow they could be, albeit not in this particular way. Some fates were inescapable.

Both Neros had claimed the couch, and this strange double now devoured every slice of pizza offered to him with a speed that put even Dante to shame. He shoved them into his mouth, tearing the slice with his teeth before chomping again, sucking them in so fast one had to wonder when he or if he swallowed at all. At first Vergil told himself teenagers were supposed to eat a lot, but as he watched Nero snatch yet another pizza box, set it on his lap and turn it so the top would stand between the slices and Dante, he couldn’t help but think this Nero also ate like someone who didn’t know when his next meal would be.

Vergil wondered how bad, exactly, was this world where Mundus had both he and Dante at his beck and call. He wondered, too, if this one would have turned the same, had he successfully taken Sparda’s power for his own at the Temen-ni-gru. He had not cared at the time, yet he watched the stiff slump in Nero’s shoulders and remembered the break in his voice as he slapped the ground and openly yearned for more power. It left him almost glad he had fallen into Hell instead.

Once Nero had gone through three whole pizza on his own, he finally slowed down enough to share his story. He spoke of the destruction wrought upon the world while he was still a child, their news coming either from Sanctus or from a scratchy voice on an old radio, of Sanctus’ premonitory dream that he was Sparda’s Chosen and would one day save the world, of countless hours of training and even more numerous battles, alone or with Credo and Lady by his side. Every word out of his mouth added a little stone of worry in Vergil’s stomach. The world had unravelled around Nero when he was ten, and within a year of it, they had tasked him with saving it. If he could have reached through the worlds to find this Sanctus and crush his throat, he would have.

Nero soon tired of his disastrous life, and when the room grew several degrees colder after his description of the Order’s faith spreading, he shut down and asked about their lives instead. It led to a substantial amount of mocking Dante for his mess of unpaid bills and pizza stacks, but soon enough Nero retrieved his cellphone and showed his younger counterparts pictures of their Fortuna home and the small family he’d built. Open wonder inched its way into the teenager’s face as he bent to stare at small clips of Madeleine--laughing from tickles, screaming with joy at various flights, sprinting around the house on tiny legs and falling face-first in the middle of the living room… Vergil had watched many of these hundreds of times, filling his still-sleepless nights with his granddaughter’s endless antics. He did not think he would ever tire of her smile, and after two years, the deep ache of missed years with Nero had dulled to a low throb.

Still. He hoped they would find time for a full family visit despite the interrupted vacations. He was eager to hold his little lady once more.

Another video ended, and Nero closed his cellphone with a sigh. “Listen, kid, I gotta run. It’s getting close to Mads’ bedtime and Kyrie will need help with the chaos. You gonna be all right with the two old men?” He gestured at the twins but his gaze never left his much younger counterpart. The other Nero pouted.

“I guess…”

“I’ll be back,” he promised, springing out of Dante’s couch. “Maybe we can spar tomorrow? I bet ya got tricks you could show me, and we’ve all nailed a few cool techniques we could trade.”

Excitement lit Nero’s eyes at the suggestion. “Yeah! That’d be awesome, I--” His voice squeaked from and he cleared his throat, pitching it back down to a lower register. “I mean, it’d be cool. Interesting. Yeah…”

“Hell yes. S’almost like having my own twin to smash these asshole’s butts into the ground!” He clapped his hands, scratched his nose, and turned to Vergil. “I’ll give you a call in the morning.”

Then he was gone again, coat flapping as he passed through the large doors, and the small pinch in Vergil’s stomach reminded him of how much he missed Nero whenever they spent too long apart. He watched the doors long after they’d closed behind his son, and only Dante’s voice dragged him back to the matter at hand.

“Well, it ain’t much Nero, but if ya wanna sleep here, I got an extra bed.”

“Please, Dante,” Vergil said, disgust seeping through his voice. “He’d be much more comfortable at my place. I do have a modicum of standards with regards to the cleanliness of my living spaces, after all, and Nero keeps a change of clothes there at all times.”

Dante kicked his feet on his desk and stretched back, grinning. “Sure, bro, but then he’d have to deal with _you_.”

“Because you’re any better?” Anger spiked through Vergil. He knew Dante was baiting him, but he couldn’t help the power swirling inside of him. “I’m not the one who called him ‘Teenero’.”

“Nah, but I’m not vibrating with Dad Energy every time I glance at him.”

Vergil stomped forward, blue swords appearing over his shoulders. “Dante--”

“I don’t care!” Nero exclaimed. “You’re both the worst, anyway.” He hunched until his scarf hid part of his face and crossed his arms. Heavy silence filled the passing seconds until he muttered, “I could do with a real bath, I guess. Been ages.”

Vergil’s chin tilted up--the only outward sign of the warmth blooming inside. Dante only had a half-broken stand-in shower, which meant Nero would be coming with him. His brother’s shoulders slumped in obvious disappointment.

“The only baths I take are blood ones,” he said, and when Nero’s eyes widened in horror, he hurriedly added “From my enemies!”

Vergil snickered. How was that any more reassuring? Never one to let fear get to him, Nero had leaned forward, power swirling within as if priming himself for a fight. How uncommon, for Dante to be perceived as threatening. His easy smile, slouched posture, and general messiness tended to put others at ease, to the point where some missed the obvious threats occasionally threaded in his tone.

“Where’s my girl Nico when I need someone to laugh? Damn but y’all have no sense of humour.”

“I find plenty funny, Dante.”

“It’s the shit comin’ out of your mouth that sucks,” Nero added.

Vergil choked down a laugh, which earned him a knowing glare from Dante. The day had not yet come when Vergil did not derive immense satisfaction from watching his son roast his brother.

“Regardless, I do have a bath, Nero. You are welcome to it.”

He only received a grunt in answer, but Vergil decided that must have been an agreement. He settled down into his chair once more, basking in the quiet satisfaction of knowing he would get to watch over Nero tonight.

“If I may, Nero… you have told us much of your life, but we’ve yet to hear how you landed into ours. Judging by your flight out of the portal, however, I’d imagine you were fighting?”

“Yeah, ugh.”

Nero seeped in his frustrated disgust without explaining for a while, but as seconds passed and the only breaks in silence came from Dante’s satisfied _hms_ as he chomped down on more pizza, he eventually started his story. A demon had been devastating the countryside in France, and after it’d killed a first team of knights, they’d sent Nero to dispatch it--alone, as Credo was still injured and no one could ever get a hand of Lady at this time of the year. It’d been a disgusting piece of work, a hunched humanoid with stripes of extra skin and six limbs, quicker and stronger than it had any right to be.

"Fucker's bloated fingers kept glowing pale white and he'd wave them around, strands of light trailing out like he'd been weaving some shit before I came in. Always knew what I was about to do, too, or near enough. Do you know how annoying that is?"

Vergil could not help but seek Dante's gaze. How often had he found his brother's sword blocking his as if every one of Vergil's attacks were displayed on his forehead? Dante's eyebrows shot up at the look and his casual smirk widened--enough for Vergil to catch it, but hidden from most others.

"To some extent I do," Vergil said, "albeit not in the same manner you experienced. Did the Yamato touch these strands of light? Did you, perhaps, lend a hit?"

Surprise flashed through Nero's expression. Vergil had always found the easiness with which his son displayed emotions baffling, yet compared to this teenage Nero, his wore stone-cold masks. "How did ya know?"

"Cause his portal was all angel-white?" Dante asked.

"In part."

More than anything, however, the esoteric sensation attached to Nero’s copy of the Yamato had tipped him off. When he had picked the blade to sheathe it, the world around him had blurred as if a hundred different images of it had superimposed. He’d lifted it, and for an instant he’d caught pale white glimpses of his hand as it did several different things--sheathe it, spin it, fling it to the ground, stay unmoving and stare--so many translucent ghosts of possibilities, some thicker than others. These, he suspected, were glimpses of potential futures, like so many would-be universes, existing a fraction of second before vanishing as a path was chosen. And he’d only ever faced one type of demon who could read the near-future in such a fashion.

“I believe Nero fought a soothsayer,” he said, “and that in striking it, he… used the Yamato to separate its future sight powers from it.”

“How the fuck would I even do that?”

Vergil folded each of his fingers on his palm as he sought for a probable answer. Despite all his years with the Yamato, he didn’t yet hold all its secrets. Furthermore, he had no proof this other-Yamato retained the same abilities, although to his sense it had seemed fairly close to his own, if one excluded this particular power.

“The Yamato has the unique ability to be able to cut through anything, whether physical or… let’s say immaterial. Much of its power is dependant upon the strength of one’s will--and I daresay you, Nero, are a willful, decisive child.”

Nero pushed himself off the couch, anger rippling through him as he shoved empty pizza boxes asides. “I ain’t--”

Dante’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. “He means it as a compliment,” he said with a chuckle. “Hard to tell, I know.”

Nero threw himself back into the seat with a huff, mumbling. “I’m not a _child_.”

The roundness of his cheeks and quick temper said otherwise, and Vergil struggled to think of this teenager as anything but a child-- _his_ child, in fact. Yet hadn’t he been the same, at his age? At fourteen, he had killed more demons than he cared to count, dodged death almost as often as he’d inflicted it, and travelled through several countries to lose Mundus’s relentless pursuit. He had cut down adults or parts of them for daring to imply he was too young to handle himself. From everything he had said so far, Nero might not have been as isolated as Vergil, but he had seen his shares of battles and death.

“Some children are forced to grow faster,” he said, as much of an acknowledgement as he was willing to give. After all, his staunch refusal to allow anyone to belittle him for his age had not made Vergil any older, and it was questionable if the hardships had made him any more mature. They had made him sharp and cold, but those were not synonyms. “Regardless, I would like to keep your Yamato for a time. If it brought you here as I think, then it is likely to hold the key to sending you home.”

“Ya can have it, old man.” Nero brought his legs up on the couch, wrapping his arms around them. For all his protests about age, he certainly tended to show discomfort through youthful habits. “I told ya. All this katana ever brought me is trouble.”

Nero flung it unceremoniously across the room, to Vergil's great horror. He caught the blade midair and brought it back with care, settling it down on his lap. Even through the sheathe, he could feel its power and the pulse of a different kind of magic. Vergil wrapped his hands through the sageo with a thoughtful _hmm_.

"I hope your stay here earns itself a different descriptive."

“Heh.” The hint of a smirk stretched on young Nero’s face and leaned back into the couch, hands behind his head. “Dunno about that. From the sound of it, Dante’s always trouble here, too.”

“You catch on quickly, I see,” Vergil said.

Dante blew them a kiss. “Y’all love trouble, ya just don’t wanna admit it.”

Vergil might have protested, but the truth of his words seared any retort out of him. He tilted his head in silent assent.

Nero did not agree and was quick to make it known. It sparked one of these loops of banter Dante thoroughly enjoyed, and from which there was absolutely no winning. Vergil still attempted it at times, but his annoying little brother had made an art out of getting the last word. Unfortunately for Nero, he had no idea the lengths to which Dante could go, and too much pride to quit while he still could.

Vergil ignored them in favour of the Yamato on his lap and pushed the blade out with his thumb. A light iridescent shine still covered the blade, hard to perceive but undeniable, and he accessed the remaining power as soon as he wrapped his fingers around the grip.

His perception of the world shifted, a hundred echoes superimposing on each others, countless possibilities branching out from a single point, shifting every moment like so many ghosts. He heard Nero’s “you don’t fucking know what’s in my head” at the same time as he registered a dozen other potential responses, from a simple “fuck you” to the teenager flinging himself at Dante. Not all possibilities carried equal weight, but Vergil couldn’t begin to sift through them--every time he tried to focus on the myriad of happenstances layering themselves, similar but slightly different, powerful nausea overtook him. He released the grip and stared at the Yamato, breathless. Somewhere in this power was a way to cut from one branching path to another, but he would need time to get used to the visions of immediate futures.

He would find it, however. Sleepless nights and experimentations to master new powers had always been part of his life. Nero depended on his decades of experience and knowledge of the Yamato--an entire world did, though it would be dishonest to pretend that mattered more. Vergil cared only insofar as his son did, and no matter the universe he came from, Nero would always be his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind Vergil he's just vibrating dad energy.
> 
> In case it's not clear, because it isn't entirely for DW!Nero -- what he thinks of as "Sparda's blessing" is a partial DT, with his wings and hardened scale but not much else. However, with the Yamato in hand he can use a full devil trigger… except he's never learned to control/trust his demon, so he becomes a loot more feral in it.


	4. The Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Teenero gets to spend some time with these strange alternate-world people and slowly grows rather fond of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4's prompt was Bonds, so here you go, a whole, massive chapter of bonding. FWIW, this is barely edited/revised so if it has more typos than usual, you know why. XD

Nero flopped onto the bed’s thick mattress, arms spread out on either side of him, and he stared at the ceiling. The whole fucking day had been weird, but tonight had really stolen the show. Vergil’s eyes followed him wherever he went, and the dude just had this barely restrained concerned energy Nero couldn’t take. Hadn’t helped that he’d showed him where to find clothes his size (from the other Nero, whose life was everything one could dream of) or insisted on cleaning up his torn and battered order outfit (Nero could swear he’d spotted a sewing kit and he fucking hoped not). You could just tell the old man wanted to fuss over him like some mother hen, and Nero hated it. He wasn’t a delicate flower, or a child, or a broken toy to fix. He was a warrior and a protector.

One who enjoyed long, warm baths, though. His skin had all wrinkled up long before he forced himself to leave, and if the whole thing hadn’t gone cold, he might have stayed another hour. The whole bathroom had been small, cozy, quiet--sorta shit he never got to enjoy anymore. No weird alternate-reality stared at him, no demons threatened to try and take a chomp of his skull, and no Fortuna-wide alarm bells would interrupt his rest time. It’d been just him and the bubble of warmth. And a gazillion fucking questions, but after a while, even those had dissipated in the ambient steam. Sunk under the warm water, spared the presence of anyone to satisfy, impress, or protect, Nero let the universe fade away.

He had forgotten what peace of mind felt like. 

It didn't last. 

Vergil’s gaze trailed him as he moved from bathroom to bedroom, and even through the door, spread out on the bed, Nero still felt it. Had it been disturbing to the other Nero, too? Or was he the only one too bitter at the world--too knowledgeable of the ways nothing good ever lasted--to trust any of this bullshit? They were lucky, here. They had their weird little demon family, had defeated Mundus, could spend a whole night eating pizza and showing each other baby videos. But that wasn’t his life. It’d never be his life, parrallel-universe bullshit nonwithstanding. Mundus had already torn all chances of that to shreds.

At least the whole overbearingly-caring-father-gaze thing vanished as soon as they started sparring the next morning. Vergil's eyes turned to cold steel as he lifted the Yamato, and at the slightest sign from his twin, he rushed into battle with everything he had. They'd been scary quick and fluid yesterday, in obvious sync with each other, but today… Today neither of them were restraining themselves, although Nero was quick on his feet and had great instincts, he would have been knocked on his ass repeatedly without help. 

His older-him fought by his side, though, a more battered Red Queen in hand, whooping and taunting with every strike parried. He was having _fun_ , and dang, he was impressive to watch! He spun and dove and slashed with an abandon Nero only ever reached when he let the Yamato's demonic energy flow through him--when he lost himself. This older Nero didn't seem lost at all, though. He grinned as his blue wings shimmered into existence, punching out towards father and uncle or catching their blades, creating openings for his partner to jump through. Nero didn’t miss a single of these opportunities. He’d needed only a few quick exchanges to fall into a good rhythm with his older self, to move with a synchronicity not unlike the twins’ and reverse the flow of battle.

They were holding their own fine until Vergil slammed time to a stop around the older Nero and Dante jumped on the chance to slip past his defenses. Nero _tsked_ at their maneuver and leaped in the way, bringing forth his towering blue shield to block Dante’s strike. He’d expected his counterpart to use the bought time to launch a counterattack, but instead the older Nero gasped.

“That’s--”

He never got to finish. Vergil used his distraction to slip behind and score a hit, leaving a thin red line before kicking him into the younger Nero’s back. The impact sent them both stumbling, and as Nero came back out in a roll, he found Dante’s flat sword pointed right at him. 

“Fuck!” He slammed his fist in the ground, bitter heat rising through him, tightening his chest. He hadn’t wanted to lose! He wanted to prove his worth, show ‘em how hard he could fight. Nero spun around to face his teammate, scowling. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Your shield.” 

Nero didn’t like the rawness of the other’s voice. He glared at him. “Ya got a problem with it?”

“N-No, it’s just…” His gaze passed over Nero’s outfit, lingering on the emblazoned symbol of the Order of the Sword. He scratched his nose. “Memories, I guess. Let’s go for another round. It won’t surprise me twice.”

No one mentioned it after that, but Nero kept throwing wistful look at the shield through their sparring. To his great satisfaction, Team Nero managed to win more and more rounds as time passed, their synergy increasing with every battle. Dante suggested going at each other with their full powers, but Nero shut down that idea immediately. He needed the Yamato to do so, and he hated letting it take over. He didn’t want to yield control to it and lose himself. They didn’t insist, but for a while Vergil’s gaze trailed him again, full of the soft concern he’d displayed the previous night. Nero stabbed it out of him as fast as he could in the next fight.

The twins left halfway through the day, Dante for a demon hunting job, and Vergil because he’d volunteered to help Kyrie with the children. He took both Yamato with him and promised to be at the flat for dinner and have something ready. Nero grimaced as he walked away; maybe he should’ve slept at Dante’s. Dude was annoying, but he’d let him be instead of this weird aloof doting act.

“Your shield,” the older Nero said, “I’ve seen another much like it before.”

It sounded almost like an accusation. “It’s mine. No one else can call that forth.”

Nero raised a hand to placate him. “Not sayin’ you stole it or some shit. It just… looks like Credo’s. When he, huh… the Credo I knew could transform, and when he did, his shield kinda took that look.” He ran a hand through his short hair, looking at everywhere except at Nero. “Ya see him still, right? Sounded like it, yesterday.”

“We hunt together, yeah.” The other Nero had sounded so wistful, like he wished they could change places. As if he didn’t have an idyllic life here, with a whole fucking family and children and no demon invasion. “What’s wrong with yours?”

Pain twisted Nero’s expression. “He died. He was killed more than a decade ago, and I couldn’t do shit to stop it.”

Rocks dropped at the bottom of his stomach. He couldn’t imagine his life without Credo fighting by his side. The man was a rock, steady even when the world around crumbled, confident and powerful. It had to suck, not to have him, yet Nero didn't feel bad for his older self. Maybe that made him an asshole, but he was kinda happy to have this one thing the other didn't. Here, Nero had a loving dad and a goofy uncle, he had been with Kyrie for years, had an adorable little toddler, older orphans he'd adopted, and more babies on the way--really, his whole life was sweet as hell. Way better than back in his world when he was lucky to see Kyrie twice in a year and had to fight his own family. But at least he had Credo, and he’d never let him die.

“Demons?” he asked.

Nero pressed his lips. That was the face of ‘not sure I wanna say’, so he glared until his older counterpart relented. “Ya dead set on sparring? ‘Cause I think we should grab some food and talk. I know a good burger joint.”

Fighting would be better. It let him forget where he was and the amount of bullshit suddenly dumped on him. But Nero wanted answers, too. Even if this world was different from his, they had plenty in common. What if what had happened to Credo here could happen home, too? He needed to know. 

So they dropped at the burger place instead, and while Nero ate two plates of appetizers and his own full meal, he listened to the older Nero’s story about Sanctus and the corrupted upper layers of the Order. This was some wild level of bullshit right there, and he kept interrupting because his Order was totally different. Everyone knew about the Ascension and Credo had shown him his angel form multiple times in battle. Sanctus had been there for longer, too, not just two years. He’d taken over shortly after Mundus’s invasion, and without him, the Order wouldn’t have spread so far worldwide. But back where he was from, no one needed to open gates to Hell to fake demon invasions: all the death and carnage was as real as they could be. When he told the other that, he only got a shrug in answer. 

“Yeah, maybe it’s different. Just don’t trust ‘em too much, all right? Ya never know, and the price…” His gaze drifted to the symbol of the Order of the Sword again and he sighed. “I miss him so much. Wish he could’ve seen me today.”

“He’d love all the baby pictures.” For all that he often fought about nonsense with Credo--the dude was _strict_ about the stupidest things!--Nero knew he loved him. Not everything changed between worlds, didn’t it? “Ya got your life all in order. Of course he’d love you.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon exchanging stories about Credo--things he kept scolding them for, cool tricks they’d learned training with him, the astounding quality of whatever he cooked--all sorts of stuff! It was kind of amazing how similar the Credos they knew were.

Nero thought spending so long talking to himself would be awkward, but this older Nero… he was grounding in much the same way Credo could be. Calmer and confident in himself. It made him envious, but under that low burn of jealousy, he kinda admired him. And that was him, no? He could be that, maybe, one day--cool and powerful and happy. But he’d need to kill Mundus first and fix his bullshit world, and for all his power and strength, Nero just didn’t see how he could ever manage that.

His world was doomed. Well and truly fucked. And one day he’d need to go back and salvage what he could of it anyway, even though he was more likely to lose his own Credo than to save the sons of Sparda under Mundus’ power. He just… had to do his best. No one was there to do it for him, anyway. Until then, though… he was starting to like this more peaceful reality, its constant food, and its weirdo family members.

###

Nero had promised Kyrie he’d be back before dinner and he almost broke his word, absorbed in his afternoon. His teen-self had so much fire in him, and _everything_ would get him lit up. Damn, he spent as much time talking about how crispy and delicious the fries were as he did talking about Red Queen. You could tell his emotions were always boiling under, and Nero remembered just how dramatic and important everything had seemed, at the time. Fifteen was too young to shoulder the whole world, and Nero knew himself well enough to read between the lines and guess at the toll it took on this Nero. He wanted to hug the damn kid, but that would 100% earn him a punch, so he kept his distance. Still, when the time came to bring him back to Vergil’s, he couldn’t help but linger. 

His hunch had been right, too. Vergil had found enough time in the afternoon to piece together the rest of the mystery behind the Yamato and Nero’s arrival. He’d placed the other katana on the low table in his living room and gestured for them to sit down. While his teenage self flung himself into the couch, Nero remained standing above, arms crossed. No point in getting cozy; he couldn’t stay long. Vergil must have known, as he went straight to the point.

“Soothsayers see multiple paths into the future; essentially multiple worlds. Your Yamato imbued itself with that power, perhaps slicing it out of the demon, and cut to ours. I do not know precisely how. It does not seem truly sentient, though it responds to its wielder. You might have wished for something and this would be the unintended result.” He raised a calming hand, palm out, when Nero huffed and opened his mouth to protest. “Regardless… it still retains some of that power, and I am confident that I could guide you into creating a portal home. The power, however, is slowly dissipating. At most, you can stay here three days, and after that one portal, it will be gone.”

“Three days?” As good a read as Nero had on his younger self, he couldn’t tell if he was happy or disappointed about it. The kid might not know himself, really. He fell back into the couch and pouted. “What if I wanna leave now?”

“Then you can do so.” He kept his tone cool and controlled, but over the course of the last few years, Nero had learned all the inflexions that betrayed Vergil’s thoughts. He wanted the teenager to stay-- _badly so_ , even. And quite frankly, so did Nero, especially if he heard that right and this portal-magic dissipating meant they couldn’t all follow him, fix his shitty world, then return home to chill.

“Is his world like the demon world? Does time pass differently there?”

“It’s… more complicated than that. His time is not tied to ours at all. The easiest will be to return him at the time and space he left.”

The teenager’s head snapped up at that, eyes widening. “So… I ain’t losing any time while here? No one will notice?”

And there it was. It’s not that he hated this place. He felt guilty staying here when others needed him. Nero leaned over the couch and let his hand drop on his younger self’s shoulder. “Ya won’t get a break like this anywhere else. Stay and train and eat and meet the family. I can even find ya training montage music.”

“W-what?” The teen turned around, pushing his hand off. “Don’t be a dork! I don’t need music.”

Nero grinned at him. “But you’re staying, huh? Glad to hear it.” He straightened back up. As much as he enjoyed these strange hours with his younger self, he really needed to keep going. “Let me know if ya wanna meet Kyrie or Mads. Not sure my other three monsters wouldn’t be a tad too freaked out, though.”

They would want to know about themselves and their parents, but Fortuna hadn’t been devastated in the other world. It didn’t feel wise to make them face the possibility they had other selves in universes where their lives might be considerably better or worse. Amelia might handle it, but inviting only her while not explaining anything would hurt Julio and Tycho.

“You’d bring the baby?” he asked, eyes wide.

“If it ain’t too weird for you, yeah. I don’t think Kyrie will mind. She, huh…” Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have started that sentence. He saw Nero’s eyes perk up, and now he totally wanted to hear what Kyrie had said about him, even though she wasn’t _his_ Kyrie. Nero cleared his throat. No point in waiting for the kid to ask--he was gonna for sure. “She said I was always a cute teenager and she was glad to have a chance to help you out, even if it bungled our vacations.”

Heat climbed all the way to the tip of this younger Nero’s ears and he promptly scratched his nose. Then he mumbled, “She’s still super cute too, on the pictures,” and promptly jumped to his feet, adding much louder. “Anyway I was promised dinner!”

“I have spaghetti,” Vergil provided, and they both let the obvious cover up slide. Nero wished the two of them a good evening and left, eager to return to his girlfriend, who was indeed ‘super cute’, and the rest of his family.

###

Dante invited himself over for dinner. No way he was gonna miss time with this feral little Nero just cause Vergil hadn't explicitly told him to come, and also, he'd totally forgot to buy soap again and that was the perfect excuse to use Vergil's fancy shower and his fancy blue shampoo and everything. Besides, if Vergil didn't like it, he wouldn't have moved right across the street from the _Devil May Cry_. 

Case in point: his grand, noisy entrance earned him glares from Teenero but only an exasperated eyeroll from Vergil. "I made extra for you brother"

“Coolios! I’ll jump into the shower and be right with y’all.”

Now _that_ got Vergil’s head to snap up. He scowled at him. “If you don’t clean your blood off my bottle of shampoo I will personally put every single pizza joint in this city out of business, is that clear?"

Dante laughed and waved him away, walking past the dining room and greeting Teenero with finger guns. Kid gave him the evil eyes, and oh boy but the family resemblance was striking with the two of them glaring like that. Even so, Dante had trouble wrapping his head around this whole alternate world stuff. He’d seen a lot of bullshit in his life, but this one might just take the cake! To think there was a him somewhere who’d straight up lost to Mundus… Not a pleasant thought, that. This poor him mustn’t’ve had pizza or sundaes in a decade! That wasn’t a fate he wanted to contemplate too long, so instead he focused on very loudly singing in the hot shower while he pictured Vergil and Nero groaning at the table one room over. Part of him wanted to take his sweet time in the high-pressure-will-scalp-your-skin hot jet of water that was Vergil’s shower, but also, hey, Teenero. So he got himself cleaned up, roughly dried his hair with the dark blue towel, promptly tied that around his waist, and joined them at the table. 

Teenero stared at him non-stop, and the bewildered disgust on his round little face was all Dante could have dreamed of. 

“Why the fuck do people like you?”

Dante leaned back into his chair with a shrug and a wide smile. “Irresistible charm, of course.”

“You’re the worst. I don’t wanna see your grimy chest hair!” he declared, throwing his arms up and spinning towards Vergil. “Do something!”

“I am afraid my conventional means of dealing with Dante’s insufferable manners would lead to blood on the table.”

“Ugh!” Nero pushed his chair back in the most dramatic fashion. “Then I ain’t hungry anymore!”

As if. No way the malnourished teenage boy was no longer hungry for a few chest hair. Dante burst out laughing and kicked its chair up on its two back legs. “Ya gonna storm off kid? Slam your door, throw yourself on the bed? Here I thought you were so mature.”

Teenero stopped right in his tracks. Waves of pure rage washed out of him as he spun around, and his demonic arms shimmered to life. “Wanna meet my fist?”

“Gave him a name?” Dante asked, eyebrows raising. He should stop, he really should, but it was _so easy_. This boy was a ball of pure rage coated with pride, and he couldn’t _not_ poke at it. 

Something yanked his chair hard and fast, sending him on the ground before Nero could jump across the table. Dante caught sight of Vergil’s blue tail flicking back towards him before it vanished.

“Dear brother, you will get dressed immediately or you will have dinner alone in your pathetic office space. If, as I believe, you came here to see Nero and not to exhaust every once of patience we have, clothes would be a great start.”

It sucked when Vergil was right. Dante pouted and got back on his feet, as nonchalant as possible. “Yeah yeah, all right. I’ll get dressed for the princess. Ya mind if I borrow something?”

He asked just to hear Vergil’s ‘Of course I do’, as if Dante wasn’t gonna do it anyway. He strutted straight to Vergil’s bedroom, searched through the drawers for everything intended for him: clean and loose underwear with a pizza slice on them, red wine cotton pants and a black t-shirt with ‘annoying little brother’ written on top. All of those had mysteriously appeared after the first time Dante had waltzed in and borrowed Vergil’s clothes unannounced, and Dante loved the outfit more than he cared to admit. 

Teenero snorted as he saw the shirt. “Well ain’t that the truth,” he said. “Ya need another one that says ‘I suck.’”

“That can certainly be arranged,” Vergil said, “but for now, everyone is finally sufficiently dressed for dinner and it’s growing colder.”

You could tell Vergil had spent the afternoon around children because he instantly gained this Dad Inflexion to his voice and suddenly cared that they all ate at the same time, and that the meal stayed warm. Like he wouldn’t happily fling cold white spaghetti at Dante’s face if no one else was around. Dante kicked up his fallen chair, caught it up midair, and then flung himself into it. 

“So kid, ya want any demon hunting advice?”

“From you?” Nero crossed his arms with a sneer and Dante almost choked, visions of Vergil’s haughty scorn flashing before his eyes. He’d had a handful more years than Nero when they’d first met, a year before the Temen-ni-gru, but they still both made the exact same face. 

“Who else?" Dante asked, spreading his arm. 

"I got the best devil hunter as a partner already." Nero rolled up some pasta on his fork then pointed it at Dante. "I don't need your messy advice."

"The best--" Dante stopped and sputtered. "Is that Lady? That's totally Lady. Just like her! I'm gone five minutes and she's out there pretending she's the best devil hunter to ever walk the earth. I bet she uses that to charge more."

That was the most amusing thing he'd heard all day. Devastated world or not, Lady never missed an opportunity. Teenero stuffed his mouth, chomping on the spaghetti, then started answering. Vergil twitched at his full mouth--honest-to-god twitched like he was gonna scold this kid for his manners!--and it was all Dante could do not to laugh.

“Credo says she has no soul but she’s worth every coin.” He swallowed down then down a whole glass of water. “She’s very destructive.”

Credo needed to read between the lines, if he thought Lady had no soul. He had to wonder how she was, in this weird world where he wasn’t around. Did she even miss him? They hadn’t seen each other all that much, in the years between the Temen-ni-gru and Mallet Island. 

“Ya know, this whole double world shit’s really weird, but it’s got its charms too. Here, your Order kept stealing Lady’s jobs, and that’s how she got pissy enough to investigate ‘em, and how I wound up putting a bullet in your pope.”

“Dante--” Vergil snapped, whole ass body tensing--and, oops, this Nero still liked the Order, didn’t he? 

“I already know,” Nero snapped. “Nero told me. Your Order was fucked. Mine’s different.”

Every sentence was punctuated by a brusque movement: stabbing the pasta, turning them, shoving them into his mouth. Dante shrugged; he didn’t believe it for a moment, but what was he gonna do? S’not like the kid would take his advice, and if he’d heard the full story from his older self, then he knew all he needed to.

Vergil, apparently, disagreed. 

His twin set his fork down and leaned forward, not even bothering to hide his concern. “Nero… You must be careful with them.”

“No, look--” Nero started, mouth full again. “Ya don’t understand! My world’s fucked and we need ‘em.”

“I am not advising you to shoot your Sanctus. _I_ believe in less rash approaches,” Vergil said, sliding a judgemental look at Dante. “But, listen to me, Nero. This Sanctus… he is the one who first informed you that you were Sparda’s chosen, did he not?”

Nero frowned. He only nodded and stuffed more food in his mouth. Vergil lips pressed into a thin line and he remained silent for so long, Dante thought he’d dropped the topic. 

“Be wary of older men praising your powers as unique. They will say you are their only option, that only you can help them. They will pretend to be ally and proffer advice, knowledge, guidance. But even if your goals do align, Nero, even if they want what you want for a time… at the end of the day, they are using you. They are shaping you into what they need--making you think it is what _you_ need--and they will drop you the moment it suits them.”

“Th-they won’t.” 

Nero protested, but there was that small stutter of doubt. He had heard it too, the locked pain in Vergil’s tone, the ghost of lived experience. Dante stared at his brother, who had elected to find great interest in the salt shaker on his table. They’d never talked of his collaboration with Arkham, of how he’d gotten it into his head he needed to access Sparda’s power. Now Dante wondered if it’d been his idea in the first place.

Vergil lifted pale eyes on the teenager and the trace of a smile touched his lips. “Perhaps not. Tell me, Nero… Credo is like a brother to you, is he not?”

Nero’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

“Then keep him close.” 

He pushed himself up, picking up his empty plate, then Dante’s. He pointedly did not look up at him as he did so, and Dante held his peace for once. There was an apology in there, an admittance of mistakes so unlike Vergil he didn’t know what to say anyway. His bro must really be worried about this kid, to spill it out like that.

“I-I will. I don’t wanna lose him.” When his own empty plate found its way to the top of Vergil’s pile, Nero bit his lower lips. “Can I get more?

A sharp chuckle escaped Vergil. “Of course. If you are hungry, Nero, you only need to let me know.”

And they were back to the Dad Energy. Vergil swept towards the counter and the pot of spaghetti with the same relaxed grace of his battle strides. He’d never have thought all the domestic shit would suit his brother so well, that he’d enjoy them as much as he seemed to--Dante sure couldn’t be bothered--but watching Vergil fall into the peaceful family mode never failed to warm his heart. He had seen more smiles on Vergil in the last two years than he’d dreamed of in decades, and as hard as it was to think of the lost years, Dante had long made his peace with them. The present was, for once, totally amazeballs, and he’d never been one to let nostalgia ruin his fun.

###

The second night at Vergil’s wasn’t as awkward as the first. Nero had gone through three servings of spaghetti, then eaten all those strange little rolled up cakes in his pantry, and now this dude had made him salt and vinegar chips from near scratch. He only kept plain chips and added the rest himself, saying this made them way better. They smelled fucking intense, and he’d plopped down on the couch with the whole bowl and started scarfing them down. Shit was good even if the vapors from it made his eyes sting. Nero hadn’t eaten so much in a single day in ages, and if all his stay in this weirdo world stayed like this, then that alone was worth it. 

He still didn’t know what to tell these old men, though. Nero couldn’t bring himself to think of the two as family, despite how obvious it was in how they interacted with his older self. They were strangers. Nice ones, maybe, but he didn’t owe them shit, let alone conversations. Maybe Vergil got that, cause he asked if Nero liked music and instead of floundering through awkward topics, he showed him the amazing violin case the older Nero had done for him. Dante left to fetch a demon guitar (he said she was like a vampire girl, too, and Nero decided not to ask, even though her aura set him on edge) and they played for a good chunk of the night while he ate and watched. They clearly did that often, and it was nice in a quiet, relaxing way Nero wasn’t used to. It made him miss Kyrie even more.

Nero figured he could meet this world’s Kyrie, if he wanted to, but it felt… wrong. She wouldn’t be the same, and wouldn’t it be awkward to see his, after? It felt like ruining a surprise. Madeleine, though… Nero didn’t think he’d have kids. He didn’t see how he’d ever get the chance, or why he’d risk that in his shit world. And there was no reason for everything to align just the same and give him the same girl, no? But he had seen the videos and she kinda made his heart jump, because she had Kyrie’s eyes and nose, but his hair, and he thought she kinda smiled like the older Nero did, so maybe she smiled like him, too. Nero didn’t want to think about his own hypothetical future babies, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t daydream while holding this one… right?

They arrived while he was devouring his second serving of eggs and bacon, two days later. Madeleine had a sleeveless white-and-blue plaid dress and super tiny shoes, and the moment her father released her, she exclaimed “Grandpa” and waddled from the entry towards Vergil. All the stiffness in him melted away and he scooped her up from the ground to place a quick kiss on her temple, drawing a giggle out of her.

“Hello, little lady. You’ve grown so much since I last saw you!”

“You saw her yesterday,” Nero pointed out. “C’mon, Dad, we ain’t here for you.” They all turned to him, then, and the older Nero added, “Ya wanna meet someone cool, Mads?” 

Nero blushed at being called cool. Who even called themselves cool? Wasn’t that weird? Except he sure did think his older self was a total badass, and he couldn’t help feel flattered by the compliment. Vergil shifted Madeleine around so she’d be easier to take and passed her over. 

The toddler’s smile fell as Nero brought her close and she fixed big brown eyes on her, her surprise evident. Then she turned towards the older Nero, and looked back at him, and her nose scrunched all the way up. Nero’s heart tightened--she was gonna cry, totally gonna cry right in his arms, and he didn’t know what to do and--

“H-hi,” he said, and she froze. Stared at him some more. Her face smoothed out, to his great relief. “You’re Madeleine, yes?”

She touched her small chest. “Ma-de-lei-ne.”

Mads’ brow had furrowed in concentration as she enunciated each syllable slowly, working very hard to make them clear and kinda failing in the most adorable way possible. Nero felt like a warm bubble had grown in his chest and held a little bit tighter to her, grinning so hard it hurt.

“I’m Nero,” he said.

Her frown returned immediately. She pointed at her father and declared. “Pa’! Ne-’o.”

‘Pa’ could barely hide his fit of giggles. “Watch it, she’ll get angry at you for stealing my name. She can be very strong-headed and possessive.” He reached into the bag he’d brought and retrieved a thick book. “Go sit and play. She’s been pretty calm this morning, so we might get off tantrum-free. I smell bacon and I gotta hit that.”

Vergil tore his gaze away from the toddler for the first time as Nero walked past him. “I bought you peanut butter and ice cream. Help yourself.”

“Hell yeah!”

With bacon? That sounded absolutely disgusting. Nero grimaced and decided he wanted nothing to do with it. With both book and Madeleine with him, he moved to the living room. She started pulling at his hair and clothes halfway there and giggled at his first _ow_ , immediately pulling harder. 

“You some kind of little monster?” he asked her, settling down in the couch.

“Me… lil’ lady,” she declared. 

“I bet you’re both.”

“She is!” her father confirmed from the kitchens. “Don’t be fooled by the cute smiles.”

It was hard not to. Mads was a radiant toddler and her effervescent giggles filled the morning as they played together. The book Nero had handed was partly interactive, giving her instructions to follow and things to pull. She must have played with it a hundred times if the wear and tear was any indication, yet she still squealed and screamed as objects changed colours or forms rose from the book. Her sheer joy made everything feel simple and beautiful, and before he knew it, he was laughing along with her, prompting her with “you think that’s cool eh?” and playing as much as her. He never noticed Vergil leaving, or the phone Nero subtly pointed at him, never saw time fly as he switched from playing with the book to throwing her up in the air and running around the room with her. It wasn’t until Nero declared lunch time and said he’d have to bring her back for the afternoon nap that the passage of time hit. 

The morning had come and gone and he’d barely noticed. His entire days here seemed to do that, disappearing within the blink of an eye, leaving behind a soft fuzz of happiness he hadn’t known existed. Madeleine hit him worse than most. She was perfect--beautiful and clever, her laughter bubbling up at the slightest thing, her white hair fluffy and bouncing, and the very light smattering of freckles around her nose and put a stake through his heart. By the time she had to leave, she had dubbed him ‘Newo’, in opposition to ‘Ne-’o’, which was her Pa. 

He spent that afternoon with Vergil’s cellphone, watching and rewatching every video of her he could find. 

This, he thought… this was why he needed to fix his world. This was he kind of life he was supposed to live, and he fucking hated the one he’d been stuck with. But this world’s Nero hadn’t been born into it either. He’d fought for it, and so would he. One day, he’d get to hear the happy giggles of his own child and know he’d did all in his powers to give them a safe place to grow up in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Dante to pieces in this dinner chapter, he radiates little brother energy. XD
> 
> Next chapter is coming as soon as it's ready? I got some good headway into it, but who knows? If it gets out of hand like Chap 4 did, it might still be quite a few days.


	5. Yamato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nero learns more about the Yamato's nature than he'd really cared to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for Chapter 5 is Empowerment!
> 
> I ended up splitting the last chapter into two, so there'll be another update later (when I finish it).

Every night, Vergil picked up the second Yamato and reevaluated its powers. He let himself sink into it, let the possible worlds flow before his eyes, let his mind grow accustomed to it. Three days, he had said, and he followed the slow dissipation of power with care, worried it’d change rhythm and Nero would remain stuck here.

Stuck, a part of him thought, where he was visibly happier, where Vergil could provide as much food as the teenager needed, and where someone was watching over him. 

It was an unfair thought. He knew Nero wouldn’t be happy knowing he’d left his world behind to suffer and that he’d never see his Credo and Kyrie. But Vergil could not help the protective swirl rising within him whenever a genuine smile lit this young Nero’s face and the weight on his shoulders vanished even for a brief second. He yearned to follow him back into his world and walk alongside him, to help him carve out the peace he deserved. 

That, too, was an idle thought best set aside. His place was here, with his Nero and his grandchildren, with his ever-annoying little brother and the Devil May Cry’s increasingly sturdy accounts. He was… happy, here, despite the sleepless nights and some more difficult weeks. As fleeting as the very concept seemed, it did apply.

Still. Hearing his teenage son wake up with muffled screams every night didn’t help the rise of protectiveness in him. Vergil did not sleep much, and tonight he’d been reading in the living room when Nero slipped out of his door with nothing but cotton pants on. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him under the muscles, to the point where Vergil could see bones poking, and all he could think was his own years as a teenager, always running from demons, eating very little very fast to avoid any wasted time. Nero might not be as rail thin as he’d grown, but that did little to calm Vergil’s anger at his state. Then Nero stepped out of the bathroom, face just-splashed with water, and stopped dead when he finally noticed Vergil.

“Oh.” A long silence, a scowl. “Dontcha ever sleep, old man?”

“Rarely.” Vergil closed his book and leaned forward. “I find it difficult to escape my worst memories while asleep.”

“You got a lot of those, huh?” To Vergil’s surprise, Nero didn’t slink back to his room. He strode closer, to sit on the couch’s back. “What are yours about?”

Should he be honest? Although Vergil had shared such truths before, they still battled to stay hidden, unspoken. He steeled himself, quietly focusing on the fact his other-son had asked.

“Death, and pain, and defeat--real and imagined. Sometimes I do not know which are real. Mundus has altered my memories, and I have cut out many of the worst ones from myself with the Yamato.” And they had chosen to die, rather than to return to him. He regretted it now that he’d found so many other pieces of him. 

Nero’s eyes widened. “It can do that? The Yamato, I mean.”

Vergil’s heart stuttered at the hints of hope in his voice. “I do not advise it, Nero. These things that haunt you, they are a part of you. Excising them out will not give you peace or make you stronger. But… yes, it can, given a wielder which understands its powers.”

A pointless jab, perhaps, but Nero had no respect for his Yamato. With his current attitude, he’d never use it to its full potential, and Vergil could not help how much he hated the thought.

The teenager huffed, cheeks growing redder. “Whatever. I don’t care.”

“Nero… how much do you understand of the Yamato’s powers?” 

It had been bothering him, these last few days. Nero’s Yamato did not seem overly different from his--or rather, from what his had been like, before he’d fallen to Mundus. It did respond more aggressively to demonic power, as if, perhaps, deprived of it on most days. Nero only ground his teeth at the question--an admittance, perhaps, that he had never explored the question.

“Considering our situation in your world… you should know that the Yamato can split many things. It can, among others, separate power from the heart.” Vergil’s fingers drifted to where he had stabbed himself before the split, and he breathed in deeply. “And, more to the point… I know as proven fact that no amount of corruption--not from Mundus, not from any source--can ever erase our hearts.”

“That’s…” Nero scowled as Vergil’s words sank in. “Ya think I can save you. The other you, and the other Dante… with the Yamato?”

“I do. I… hope so.”

Nero stared at his hands, then at the katana at Vergil’s side. A strangled scoff escaped him and he jumped down the couch. Vergil reflexively rose as if to stop him, causing Nero to pause and glare at him. “I don’t know about _your_ Yamato, but mine’s an ass. It’ll make me powerful, but every time I let it do that, it just takes over. It’s not gonna do that fancy shit for me and I fucking hate it, all right?”

“But you keep it,” Vergil said, his voice soft. He thumbed the grip of his own Yamato as he waited for a response. Nero pouted and stared at the wall.

“I gotta. We need its power. Saved my life a few times.”

His shoulders slumped, weighed by untold responsibilities. Vergil’s chest constricted. All his youth, he’d yearned for more power, desperate for the strength to defend himself and defeat Mundus. Nero instead had it shoved upon him, forced to protect a world that had only ever been unkind to him, and although he was more powerful than any of them had been as teenagers, it was obvious he’d rather throw it all away and be at peace. Vergil hesitated, then reached for his shoulder.

“Nero… May I…”

He did not know how to express the thought that had surged within his mind, a ludicrous idea that kept rising like a wave, crushing all uncertainties tied to it with every passing instant. Deft fingers unbound the Yamato from his hip, and he offered the blade to his son--his poor boy from another world, shouldering so much more than anyone ever ought to with a determination and strength only Nero could have had. When the teenager didn’t react, he pressed the sheathed Yamato against his chest.

“I would like you to have it.” It had known and accepted both Vergil and Nero, here, and it was much more likely to cooperate with this Nero, to seek harmony with him instead of domination. But there was more to it than simple practicality and Vergil did not know if he could properly explain. “As you have no doubt surmised, this Yamato is extremely precious to me, although by now the attachment has far exceeded its status as Sparda’s legacy. It… contains a piece of my soul, you see. This… this is as close as I get to being with you, once you leave.”

Nero didn’t move, and Vergil’s courage deflated. How foolish, to believe he would care, that this wouldn’t simply make the blade even more creepy and unsafe to him. Vergil was his enemy, wasn’t he? To this Nero, the peace here was but a temporary reprieve, a few days of breathing space before he returned to his endless war. Vergil’s shoulders slumped and he withdrew the blade.

Nero clamped his fingers around it and stared at him, blue eyes wide. “Ya can’t do this. Your Yamato’s…”

“Son…”

“I’m not--”

Vergil cupped his cheek, an impulsive move he expected Nero to make him regret immediately. Instead, the teenager froze, lips parted, stunned out of his protest. 

“Let me. It is a fleeting chance we have here and although it will be over all too soon, I would be honoured to have the privilege. You will, after a fashion, always be my son--no matter the universe, and no matter how many versions of me have failed you.” 

He ran his thumb on Nero’s cheek then let his hand fall to the shoulder, where it’d be less invasive. A long second passed, then Nero crumbled into his arms, his fists awkwardly stuck between their chests as if he’d been unable to bring himself to a full-fledged hug. Vergil nonetheless wrapped his hands around Nero’s back, squeezing him tighter and holding him up, as Nero’s legs did not seem to adequately support him at the moment. Nero’s fists unwound enough for him to grip Vergil’s t-shirt and tighten, and although he sniffled heavily, he’d yet to sob.

There was, however, no denying the wetness seeping through his chest, nor the way it made Vergil’s lungs collapse on themselves. He waited for Nero’s fingers to slacken, or any sign he wished to speak or acknowledge this--only for Nero to brutally shove him away. The Yamato clattered to the ground between them.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The venom in his voice couldn’t quite cover its trembling. Nero turned away, arm half raised to hide his puffed eyes as he did. “I ain’t asking for a dad!”

Then he stormed off properly, slamming the door behind himself. Vergil watched the door in case it’d reopen, then picked up the Yamato once more. He wordlessly set it by Nero’s room, heart tightening as he stepped back. He could only hope it would be gone by morning.

###

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He’d lost it. Cried like a baby in the old man’s arm, like he was his actual dad or something. Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. Nero stared at the door, mortified. Maybe Credo was right and he needed more self-control. He should have held himself together and-and just say no or something!

But also, what right did this fucker have to go and offer him a piece of his soul like that? Who even did that? Nero hated it. Hated this world and its fuzzy feelings and its kindness. It stung, acid in myriads of small cuts he'd never noticed, making them all flare to life at once. It was already too much before Vergil offered the Yamato--before he touched his cheek with all the tenderness he displayed for his own son and opened a door Nero had never dared to hope for and-- 

Fuck. He was crying again. 

Nero wiped his face with a huff and brought his legs back up on the bed, to sit cross-legged. He pulled the blankets tighter around his shoulders, focusing on their warmth. He hadn't heard another sound in the house since Vergil had returned to his room. Maybe he slept now. Nero kinda doubted it. Apparently nightmares was one of the things he shared with his dad--or, well, this version of his dad.

Although really, the actual one probably wouldn't fare any better, would he? He was trapped under Mundus' control, forced to work as one of his own generals. Did he know Nero was his son? Did he understand who he'd tried to kill so often, over the last few years? Nero couldn't help but wonder if he'd hate him, after all these battles. Not that it mattered anyway! His whole family was fucked, corrupted to hell, and there was no point in dreaming about it.

Except… except Vergil had just given him a solution, hadn't he? If he only accepted the Yamato, if he used it… Nero squeezed his eyes shut. He hated the demonic surge that accompanied his use of the Yamato. It turned him into a bloodthirsty monster, feral and out of control. A demon. 

But maybe that was just his? What if Vergil's Yamato was different? More tame? Nero slid closer to the end of the bed. He was safe here. Vergil wouldn't be sleeping, so if anything happened he could intervene. Nero stared at his toes, wiggling them, building up his courage. He hated the possibility of losing control, but if he ever was gonna experiment, now was the time. And his homeworld needed him to.

With a huff, he stalked to his door, cracked it open, and snatched the Yamato. Even through the sheathe, it vibrated under his hand, as it had earlier when pressed against his chest. It called for his power, a swirling, enticing energy part of him craved to grasp. Only the cost of it--only the loss of humanity--had kept him away. Nero settled back at the edge of the bed, Vergil's Yamato on his lap, and promised himself it wouldn't happen. He freed the katana from its sheath and held her up, waiting for the inevitable, overwhelming surge of power.

Nothing happened.

The vibration from earlier was gone. He could feel nothing from the blade, and apart from looking pretty with the moonlight along its steel, it did jackshit. Nero tsked and waved it around.

"C'mon, asshole. I know I'm not your usual Nero. Just… help me out here."

A blue flame flickered along its edge and a slight pulse of power ran down its length. Nero's heart hammered as his palm tickled with it, tiny needles of cold spreading through it. It felt like the Yamato was… questing. Testing him. And with every passing second, the flames on it grew, its power surging. Nero's body responded in kind, fingers lengthening into claws, skin hardening. At first it stopped at his wrists, the scales fading back into skin before it reached his elbow, and Nero stared at the dark blue shine underneath. The colour matched the Yamato’s flames and his own wings. He called those forth, and as they stretched behind him, the Yamato flared to life.

Its power slammed into Nero, leaving him breathless as blue flames wrapped around his arms and chest and head, swirling before sinking into him. He gasped, vision blurring as his demon powers reached out to meet the Yamato’s. Thick ridges grew on his shoulders, coursing down towards his chest and the length of his arms. His entire body shifted, crackling with energy, and Nero couldn’t help the panic within him. He knew what followed--the battle lust, the destructive impulses, the slipping control. 

His transformation finished, and he remained at the edge of the bed, his heart slamming hard against his chest but his mind clearer than it’d ever been. How… strange. All of his senses had been heightened, yet instead of sending him into a frenzy, he perceived everything with calming clarity: the wind against the window, the softness of bedsheets under his hand, the leftover smell from their pineapple chicken dinner--and, amusingly, the swirls of Vergil’s own power, right on the other side of the wall, undoubtedly tracking his experiments. Nero stared at his hand, moving his clawed fingers, then smiled. He felt so much like _himself_ , like the Yamato was lending him help, rather than forcing power through him.

Excitement coursed through him and he returned his attention to Vergil’s Yamato, which now shone a soft blue. “You ain’t so bad.”

Maybe he really should take it with him. Vergil had offered, no? And they didn’t need it here anymore. Clearly they had all their shit together. But it just. It felt wrong. Whenever Nero let the thought sink in too long, a knot of revulsion formed at the bottom of his stomach. 

He already had a Yamato. Just because it was a bitch blade more intent on taking over than channeling him didn’t mean he should throw it in a ditch. Nero gave this blade a quick spin, then sheathed it back. His body transformed back immediately and he remained still, panting, fingers tight around the sheathe as his eyes drifted to his own Yamato, set against a corner of the room. Knots of reluctance formed in his stomach, but he had to try, didn’t he?

Nero snatched up the other Yamato with his wings and brought it in front of him. With Vergil’s blade so close at hand, he could tell the difference. His felt sharper, more dangerous, unbending and possessive. Well, _fuck that_. He was done playing demon doll for this damn sword. Nero needed its power, and he needed it to submit. He clamped his fingers around the grip and drew it out in a single, determined movement.

Electrifying power coursed through him and the world around faded, silvery white light filling his mind. Nero gasped, but he could not feel his body, only the Yamato's power crushing him, taking over. It was hungry.

 _No no no._ Nero couldn't let it dominate, not again. This Yamato was his and he _would_ make it work. Nero slammed his will down, pushing back against the whitening surge of power, his fingers clenching the grip ever harder.

_Stop it!_

A splitting headache answered him. Nero curled up on himself with a groan, gritted his teeth, and tried again. He didn’t really know how to fight back, only that this fucking pissbaby sword dug its roots in his whole body and he wasn’t having any of it. He’d had enough of accepting this bullshit. If it wanted to go on a killing spree, then it would have to play nice. This was his body and his powers; they belonged to him.

The pounding in Nero’s mind and muscles receded, leaving him breathless as the silvery light gathered before him, coalescing into hundreds of mirror shards. They floated by the bed, spread out in a humanoid body with four wings, and silver light reflected upon them. Three shards flew out, pressing under Nero’s chin like fingers, forcing him to lift it or be cut deep. Nero’s heart hammered as he leaned back, a trickle of blood running down his neck.

**You would… claim me?**

The voice was all cutting edges, a low screech of shattering glass in his mind. Sharp needles dug inside his palms, as if the Yamato’s grip itself had turned into shards. Nero swallowed hard.

“I’m not afraid,” he called back.

The Yamato laughed, a shrieking, inhuman sound that rose goosebumps across Nero’s arms. Okay, he was totally afraid. Terrified, really, of this monstrous fuckery. But he wasn’t gonna back down. 

The shards at his chin slid, scratching him up until it held the very tip. **Claim yourself first, child.**

Four wings surged forward, wrapping around Nero and plunging into his body--dozens of sharp stabbing pain all at once. He cried out as his powers responded, demonic energy coursing through him, hardening skin and sealing wounds. Every inch of air vibrated around him, overcharged and pressing down on him. His mind spun under the brutal change, the bed unsteady behind him, his lungs collapsing on themselves. He was shifting again, claws and ridges and wings erupting from him, his battle lust rising and the Yamato’s screeching mockery echoing in his ears. This wasn’t working. He was losing control again.

Claim yourself.

_Child._

He. Wasn’t. A. Child.

Anger swirled within Nero and he stomped down on his panic. He had been in this form without losing his clarity before, and he could do it. This… this demon he turned into, it was as much him as the wings granted by Sparda, or his hands and feet, or his love for Kyrie and determination to save everyone. This was him, because he was a demon spawn--like this strange father, whose aloofness melted at the sight of a toddler, or his brother, whose goofing around hadn’t stopped him from saving their world. Like the Nero of this world, who was courageous and strong and kind, and everything Nero wanted to become.

None of them were ashamed of their heritage, and he wouldn’t be either.

Nero reached for his demon energy, sinking into it rather than shrinking away from it, and the world cleared around him as the power settled within him. His headache turned into light-headedness and he laughed. Shards spun wildly around him, slicing through everything--blankets, walls, furniture. The katana itself hadn’t moved from his lap but it shone a bright silver. Nero snapped his wings out, and every piece of the Yamato’s form froze. Though it had no eyes to stare at him, Nero could feel it prodding, evaluating. He gripped the hilt harder.

“I’m not afraid,” he said again. The shards drifted back in front of him, floating apart from each other in that strangely humanoid shape once more. Nero extended his left hand, never releasing the grip. “And I’m not ashamed either.”

**We shall see. Together.**

A massive shard flew out, plunging into Nero’s chest, right in the symbol of the Order of the Sword. He flew back with a gasp, pain erupting through his body, darkening his sight as he collapsed on the bed. The last thing his mind registered was another demon aura, cold and sharp, slithering closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My readers can have a little cliffhanger, as a treat?
> 
> I have long wanted to write sentient Yamato and am really excited to make it part of Doomed World AU. That was unplanned but definitely there to stay to some extent :3


	6. Goodbyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nero has an awkward morning, and even more awkward goodbyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies for any typos or awkward sentences. this is pretty fresh out of the oven! Prompt is Goodbyes ^^

Sunlight filtered through Nero’s shredded curtains when he woke up. Flashes of the previous night returned to him--the shards, the Yamato’s screeching voice, the brutal pain at the end--and he reached for his chest. He did not find the expected shard, but he _did_ notice his clawed fingers. Nero bolted up and extended his arm. His heart hammered as he stared at the hard demon skin spreading up to his elbow, its triangular ridges now familiar. A silver glow reminiscent of the Yamato’s aura emanated from it, cold and sharp. His mouth dry, Nero scrambled towards the foot of his cut-up bed, his gaze scanning for the blade. It was nowhere to be seen.

Where the fuck..? Nero settled back on his haunches, fighting back the rising headache. Why was shit always so weird? Couldn't _anything_ stay simple with him? He'd had it in his hand when it'd stabbed him yesterday, and now it was gone and all he had left was a permanent demon arm (which, again, full on bullshit!) which buzzed without end, needles of soft pain. Nero flexed it with a sigh, wiggling his fingers.

Five long shards materialized above it, moving in sync with his fingers and almost slicing through his face.

"What the--"

Nero jerked back and held his hand out, as far from his body as he could. The fragments still floated above his hand, their sharp edges glinting in the morning light. Definitely the Yamato’s, and was it just him or was his arm glowing brighter? Nero squinted at it. He didn’t like where this was going. Reluctantly, he focused on his arm and the needling energy within… and yep, he could definitely feel the katana within.

“You’re a real piece of work, I hope you know that,” he muttered. 

The echoes of crunched glass answered him. He sighed, but when he willed the sword _in_ his hand, the five shards coalesced together into bright light, then reformed into the long blade, its glowing silver aura intact.

“Super weird.”

But his stomach was grumbling and he could smell fresh toasts from the rest of the flat, and quite frankly, Nero had had his share of weirdo demon happenstance. He wanted food in his belly. He would also need to tell Vergil he’d totally wrecked his guest room. Awkward. Nero pressed his lips together and willed the sword away; it disappeared back into his arm, leaving it buzzing once more. 

Welp, no time like the present, right? He swept one of the least damage shirt he could off the floor, passed it overhead, and slunk out of his room.

Vergil sat at the dining table with a cup of coffee and half-eaten strawberry jam toast. Although he had a computer open nearby, his gaze snapped to Nero the moment he stepped out. He stared over the cup, wordless. Judging. No way in hell he hadn’t noticed so much bullshit going on next door the previous night, and after the way Nero had ditched him, he probably thought he was an annoying little brat or some shit. Like he had any right to say anything.

“Breakfast?” Vergil offered, gesturing to the counter. 

He had fresh orange juice there and a croissant that, judging by the brown bag under it, came straight from the baker. Shit. Nero shifted on the balls of his feet for a moment. He’d been a second away from a 180 and back into the room. The low rumbling of his belly betrayed him.

“I _guess_.” 

He put all the petty irritation he could into his voice before striding past the table and doing his best to ignore the blue eyes trailing him. He poured himself a glass of juice then snatched the croissant up with his demon hand, shoving it in his mouth as if nothing at all was wrong with his body. Vergil had yet to comment, which really fucking didn’t help the general awkwardness. Nero shoved his ass on a chair across from him and tore through the croissant some more. He did not wait to swallow to speak.

“Your room’s fucked. Sorry about that.”

“Hm.” Vergil sipped his coffee, allowing the silence to stretch out real fucking long. Then he set the cup down. “While it is a shame I cannot claim these as a business expense, I am more concerned with your health than the state of the room. Are you all right, Nero?”

His voice tightened as he said his name, a sliver of concern piercing through, and Nero’s cheeks burned from sudden embarrassment. They remembered the hand cupping them, even briefly, and Vergil’s soft plea. 

“S’all fine!” he blurted out before stuffing more croissant in his mouth. “Just, huh… New stuff.” He wiggled his clawed fingers to demonstrate. “That normal?”

Vergil’s own fingers drifted closer, but he held his hand back, lips pinched and brow furrowed. He kinda looked ashamed, which made no fucking sense, but whatever. Dude wasn’t all that easy to read at the best of times, and he obviously tryin’ to keep the emotions off his face, so it wasn’t like Nero had a good idea of what went on in his head. He chewed harder on the soft, buttery croissant in his mouth, his impatience rising. Vergil brought his hands back, wrapping them once more around his cup of coffee.

“Yes and no. Nero had it once, too, but I know little of it. You may want to ask him.” His gaze locked on the arm once more. “Your Yamato is in it, I suppose?”

“Yep. Went in on its own, no warnings or anything.” After stabbing him, no less. Asshole sword. His arm buzzed in answer to his thought and he smacked it against the table with a sigh. “We’re still workin’ things out.”

That drew a chuckle out of him, at least. “I have no doubt you will bridge your differences, with time.”

Nero had enough doubts for the both of them, so that worked out. He kept the thought to himself, which led to a relapse into silence. Not quite as awkward as before, but even so. Nero gave the flimsy remainder of his croissant all of his attention, and once that was over, he pushed his chair back and went rummaging through the pantry for the bread. Strawberry jam toast didn’t sound so bad to his still grumbling stomach and it kept him busy. And, oh--peanut butter! Awesome. Nero spread five slices of bread on the counter, fully intent on stuffing himself before he had to return to a world where meals needed to be quick and thin.

“Nero…”

Urgh. Vergil had a way of saying his name, like he’d dipped it in love and pride and other bullshit, and it really fucked him up. It sounded the way his hand had, yesterday. Nero slathered a first slice of bread with jam, teeth ground tight as he replied, “Yeah?”

“I wish to apologize for my actions last night.” He clearly had to force each word out. “I am… a stranger to you and I feel as though I have overstepped.”

“You--” 

Nero slammed the knife flat on the counter. What the fuck did the old man expect him to say now? Did he really have to make it even weirder? Cause he was kinda right, that’d been fucked up of him, to just dump all those warm promises on him. But the worst was that under the shock and bewilderment, Vergil’s tenderness had unraveled years of carefully buried yearning. Nero craved this more than he cared to, and leaning into it even for a few hours would fucking ruin him. He was leaving today. None of this would last.

“I ain’t taking your Yamato.” He carefully picked up the knife again and focused very hard on the complicated task of buttering up his bread. “Ya don’t have to apologize. Just… don’t tell anyone, all right?”

He risked a glance over his shoulder. Vergil had risen, but he did not approach. His fingers trailed on the table and he tapped it once, pale eyes never leaving Nero.

“It will be our secret.”

“Right.” Nero folded five well-furnished slices of bread--some peanut butter, other jam, most both at once--and shoved one in his mouth. He used the huge bit as a pretext to gain time, then added “Coulda’ve worse, dad-wise.”

Vergil’s whole body lit up as he rendered judgement--eyes shining, soft smile, shoulders straightening. His hands even briefly flitted up, the old fuck, and he clasped them behind his back to hide the movement. What had Dante called that shit? Vibrating Dad Energy. Nero turned away with a huff, but he couldn’t help the way his own lips twitched into a smirk.

He could have had a lot worse, truly.

###

They converged back to the clearing where Nero had first appeared to say their goodbyes. It was not strictly necessary, but as they were tampering with powers they did not fully understand, Vergil had judged it more prudent. Nero had seemed glad to be out of his house and spent the entire trip opening and closing his fist, palm up. Five mirror shards appeared above his hand every time he did so, their movements mimicking the fingers’, and when Nero folded them in waves, they followed that, too. Not once had his Nero mentioned anything like it, although to be fair they still avoided the topic most of the time. Still, it had sounded as though his Bringer had resembled the two wing-arms now part of his full trigger, not… however one might wish to describe these shards.

Still. Vergil kept his thoughts to himself. After yesterday, he doubted his input on the Yamato and its behaviour would be welcome, and soon both Neros would be together. If anything urgent needed saying, they could count on their Nero to do so. Vergil had made sure to give a rendezvous time leaving them with ample space for conversation.

Nero hopped out of the car as soon as they arrived, and Vergil remained behind the wheel, watching his eager strides as he hurried to his older counterpart. He cut such a proud figure, Red Queen on his back, wind blowing his scarf and coat about, shoulders straight and steps assured. His chest remembered the wetness of tears through his shirt, and his arms remembered Nero’s weight as his legs faltered, yet looking at him now, Vergil could not help but smile. Somehow, despite all the ill fortunes of his life, Vergil had been blessed enough to meet his son not once, but _twice_ , and his love only grew from it. 

The older Nero did not waste any time with pleasantries once he’d spotted the silver arm.

“Woah, ya got your own Devil Bringer?” His surprise gave way to a concern frown and he briefly glanced over the teenager, at Vergil. “You both all right? Most demons know better than to step within _Devil May Cry_ territory by now.”

“We had no attacks,” Vergil assured him.

“What the fuck is a Devil Bringer? S’that what you call the arm?” 

He waved it around and a circle of shards slid out of its cracks, whirring in a circle around it. Both Neros whistled in impressed surprise then stared at each other--as if they’d both expected the others to know it the arm could do that. 

“Yours is… a little different from what I had.”

The younger Nero huffed. He started crossing his arms, but the shards didn’t vanish and he had to stop the movement halfway. “Yeah well, you guys have a Yamato who isn’t a _prissy little bitch who won’t cooperate and talks back so much_ , so that’s probably why.”

“Talks… back?”

“Yeah.” He gave his arm a wide shake, and the twirling shards finally slid back inside. “It did the arm thing. Guess it didn’t like its sheath or some shit.”

A candid laugh burst out of Nero and he fearlessly set a hand on his younger self’s glowing arm. “I wanna hear that story. I brought beer--you drink every now and then, right? We should kick back and trade tall tales of the Yamato, cause you definitely have your own brand of bullshit going on.”

He pulled the other one along to a small freezer out of which he withdrew two cans. After a moment of hesitation, Vergil joined them. He could not help but smile as his Nero offered white wine to him, as he once had in Mithis Forest--he could not have received a clearer sign that he was welcome to listen in. 

As he listened in, a part of him wondered if this new development would complicate Nero’s return to his world. The Yamato had shown no hostility towards Vergil, nor had it challenged him in such a direct fashion. In fact, it had acted towards him the same way as his own katana did. Yet from his Nero’s reaction, their Yamato had never spoken with him either; the closest to it had been his brief meeting of Vergil’s soul within it. Did the Yamato have its own, different soul? Had Sparda forged the blades differently in this other world? Would Rebellion also have its own, more pronounced personality? Vergil’s fingers tightened around the bottle as his mind sped through possibilities and once again left him wishing this strange combinaison of the soothsayer’s powers and the Yamato’s was his to command.

The two Neros eventually moved from their respective stories to utterly destroying a nearby tree as they tested this new arm’s abilities. The older Nero explained what he’d been able to do with his and how, and they tried out several movements to see how the arm reacted. Within an hour, Nero had figured out how to send a dozen shards flying forward, spin them around him or his arm, or to have them follow his fingers’ movements, as he had in the car. Vergil couldn’t help but notice how similar to his own summoned swords techniques some of these seemed and experience a quiet sort of pride at the strange ways his legacy lived through this Nero.

Cavaliere’s roaring engine sadly interrupted their time--a full two hours after the time Vergil had given Dante, he noted, albeit without surprise. He’d made it clear that as long as he showed up before mid-afternoon, they would wait on him. The sun had drifted past its highest point, so his brother was well within the given parameters. In other circumstances, Vergil might have been glad for his arrival, but today it only marked the end of their time with Nero, and the start of farewells he was not ready to give.

###

Dante couldn’t help but make an entrance. This asshole came in riding his electric demon bike, leaping off its seat as he entered the clearing and grabbing its handles so it wouldn’t go flying. Instead, he spun midair with it, whooping like a child and landing in perfect balance by his unflinching brother’s side. He grinned, released the motorcycle (and “accidentally” let it fall on Vergil’s legs), and came sweeping towards Nero.

“Hell yeah, the kid’s got a new arm!”

Alarm rang through Nero, but he remained rooted as Dante closed the distance between them and snatched the arm up. The Yamato buzzed within it with great annoyance, and Nero couldn’t help but agree with it for once.

“Let go, asshole!” he said, and in perfect sync with him, a thick shard sprang out of his arm and sliced through Dante’s wrist.

His eyes widened and he studied it with a chuckle. “Ever so prickly, huh?” He pulled it out and casually tossing it aside. The shard vanished before it hit the ground, and that two seconds of distraction was all the respite Nero got before the old goof flung an arm around his shoulders.

“Dante..!” Nero started, his cheeks flushed red. They were all staring at him now!

“Yeah, yeah, I know, why does anyone like me?" Dante tugged him closer with a grin. Fucker was so proud to be annoying, it just made it all worse. "It's a shame you gotta leave us so fast, kid. You’ll forgive your old goof of a would-be uncle if he’s a little sentimental about sending you back to your hellscape of a world, yeah?"

“Y-yeah?” 

_What?_ Nero hadn’t expected that. Dante was a smartass and a tease, but in all Nero’s time here, he hadn’t done much of this family talk. He joked about food and demon hunts, sparred with the flair of someone more interested in looking cool than landing a hit, and spent considerable energy annoying Nero and Vergil in turn, but he’d never called himself his uncle. Did they all think of him that way? They had their own Nero, no?

Before he could parse through his shock, Dante full-on pulled him into a hug, wrapping thick arm around Nero and squeezing. Nero stiffened, thoughts spinning as the man’s solid warmth registered. He wanted to snap at him, yet with every passing second, the firm hands against his back grew more comfortable, more… encouraging. Nero closed his eyes and patted Dante back, embarrassed and touched all at once. Asshole knew he was gonna do this shit and had totally asked for forgiveness before hand. Dante eventually pulled back and shoved a hand through Nero’s hair, breaking the Kind Uncle spell and reestablishing his Annoying Fucker aura with a smirk.

“I ain’t good with words, kid, but I wanted you to have this.”

He turned Nero’s demon hand palm up then filched within the pockets of his long red coat, retrieving a strange amulet. Its golden chain caught the sunlight as it slinked down into Nero’s palm, then Dante placed the red gem itself, hesitating a second before letting go. Nero flipped it over and scowled when he noticed Vergil’s name behind it. 

“Isn’t that his to give?” he asked, gesturing at the older twin.

“We traded.” Vergil stepped forward, removing a second amulet with a silver chain from around his neck and placing it in Nero’s hand, right besides the first. “Here.”

He had this weird quiet in his voice, awe or worry or some other tight feeling. Nero glanced between the two brothers. They’d gone all solemn on him and it set him on edge.

“Okay, what the fuck is the deal with them?”

“Well, they used to be the gate to the demon world, but none of that stuff’s left in ‘em now. They’re just… mementos. From our mother.” Dante stepped back and stretched lazily. “Thing is, for a long time it’s all we had to remember her by, and we got real attached to them. Enough that it made even brainwashed Vergil snap out of it once.”

“It _what--_ ”

Dante turned to his brother at his strangled exclamation, and his smirk this time was obviously forced. “Yeah… gave you a real headache. Never told ya about it? You won that first fight but seeing my half freaked you out big time.”

“I…” Vergil pressed his lips together, breathed in deeply, then crossed his arms. “This is why you’re not _up one_ , brother--you constantly omit my personal victories. Nevertheless…” He shifted his attention back to Nero and the stiffness in his shoulders vanished, “he is not wrong. There was once a time I would have given anything to retrieve this amulet. It may serve you--and us, by extension.”

Nero closed his fingers around the two amulets. Shit sounded real emotional for them, but he didn’t think he could refuse. He didn’t want to be rude, and, well… he wouldn’t mind having something better than his weirdo arm to remember this place.

“All right,” he muttered, “I’ll keep them safe. Huh… Thanks.”

He shoved them in his pocket for now and tried not to think of the weight it created there, heavy as the obvious history these had. Nero turned to his other self, half-expecting another big move. His counterpart ran a hand through his short hair and shrugged.

“Sorry, no ancient family heirloom here. I did make you this.” He extended a folded piece of paper, inside which was a canva of sketches of Madeleine, with faces ranging from full-blown laughter to crying monster. “You’d seem to like her, so I thought…” 

He didn’t finish. Nero didn’t need him to. If he could carry Kyrie’s smile like this with him on missions, he would have. He folded back the drawings, placing them in the small pocket against his heart, and muttered his thanks. Then there was nothing left to say, and he only shuffled on his heels, awkward. 

“Time to go?” Vergil asked.

“I guess.” 

Nero cleared his throat. It wasn’t tight or anything. He just--just needed to stay casual. He willed the Yamato into his hand and it appeared without protests. It felt… eager, a symphony of broken shards.

 **Your trust test has yet to come,** it told him.

Great. More bullshit. Nero rolled his eyes and ignored it, focusing his attention on Vergil. “So, huh, how do I do it?”

“It is best if I show you.”

Then he had wrapped behind Nero, a step to the side. He closed the distance, standing right by him without truly pressing his body against Nero, as if he, too, was not entirely comfortable with this proximity. Vergil wrapped his fingers over Nero’s and lifted the Yamato, as if readying for a strike. A blue glint appeared along the blade, barely perceptible in the sunlight, and the Yamato’s usual screeching of broken glass softened into welcoming chimes. 

_This fucking sword_ , he thought, but any further protest was cut off as Vergil’s willpower slid within the blade.

He’d have recognized this third presence even without warning, the ice-cold aura so similar to the armoured general he’d fought over and over. Yet it was nothing like it at the same time, its brutal aggression replaced by a firm nudging as Vergil swirled not only his strength, but also Nero’s, within the Yamato’s powers. Nero’s lips parted as the world distorted around him, layers of space and time he could barely understand but easily reach and slice and cross. Then he saw iridescent ghosts, strongest around Dante and the older Nero, hundreds of pale copies of them--possibilities and futures. Wordlessly, Vergil teased out a pale layer of light before them, so thin it was barely perceptible. An even smaller thread linked it to the Yamato’s tip.

His world.

Vergil set the Yamato’s tip against the layer, creating the first hole within. Nero closed his eyes, desperate to calm his hammering heart and steady himself as new power coursed through his body. He sliced down in one fluid movement, then again in a horizontal cut, and the layer split open. Beyond, barely visible through a thick white mist, was the soothsayer he’d struck before vanishing, bleeding out on the floor.

Home, for what little that meant to him.

The last few days had the soft quality of dreams, unreal and pleasant and full of food. He didn’t want them to end, even though he missed Credo and Kyrie. More than anything, he didn’t want to return to a world where everyone looked to him for salvation, where he was less a person, and more a solution to their problem. How fucking ironic, now that he knew the truth. He wasn’t a saviour, he was a demon, one of the very creatures he’d dedicated his life to hunting. And now that the Yamato had changed his arm, they would all know.

Nero wondered what Credo would say about it. Would he ditch him? Forbid his sister from dating a demon? Would he even care? His throat tightened, worries building within him. He had told the Yamato he was neither ashamed and afraid, and it hadn’t believed him. _We shall see_ , it’d said, before forcing this transformation upon him. 

Vergil released his hand, breaking Nero’s train of thought, and the Yamato vanished back into his arm on its own will. 

“Nero…”

There it was again, that weird mix of soft feelings. It rooted Nero where he was, mere inches from Vergil, half of him desperate to flee through the portal here and now rather than to face the other half, which yearned so hard for the unwavering support of a father it cut him deeply. Then Vergil had placed both hands around his head, pulling it gently closer so he could kiss its top.

“Nothing can stand against you,” he whispered. “It may be long and it may be hard, but I have no doubt in my heart that you will find a way.”

His thumb slid a brief instant through Nero’s hair, then he stepped back. Nero remembered to breathe and promptly filled his way-too-tight lungs. Any sort of answer stayed blocked within his throat, unable to get past the lump firmly lodged there. He half-stumbled back, cheeks burning, his entire body burning with the urge to throw himself at Vergil’s chest and be held again--one last time, before he needed to stay firm and strong once more. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets and forced a tight, flat smile.

“Gotta go. Portal and everything.” He gestured at it. “Take care of yourselves, I guess.”

Dante saluted him with two fingers. “Adios, kid!”

It earned him a ribbing from the other Nero, who covered his uncle’s protests with, “Kick their asses.”

Vergil said nothing. He stood a few steps in front of the rest of his family, ignoring their bickering as he offered Nero a final nod. Nero wound his fingers through the chains of their amulets then spun on his heels and walked through the portal, never looking back. He was heading home, reappearing exactly when he'd vanished, and yet his world would never be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading everyone!! This started as a really self-indulgent crossover fics between my AUs, but I had such a blast with Doomed World Nero, and it's been to bring his universe to life in more than my head. Also, wow, unplanned Yamato headcanons to rework within my story, too. XD I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I have.


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